CHARLES G. LELAND.

And aloud she spoke, "We have waited long
For one who in fear and doubt
Looks wistfully into our hall of song

As he sits on the steps without;

I have sung to him long in silent dreams,
I have led him o'er land and sea,
Go welcome him in as his rank beseems,
And give him a place by me!"

They opened the door, yet I shrunk with shame,
As I sat in my mantle thin,

But they haled me out with a joyous shout,

And merrily led me in

And gave me a place by my bright-haired love,
As she wept with joy and glee,

And I said to myself, "By the stars above.
I am just where I ought to be!"
Farewell to thee, life of joy and grief!

Farewell to ye, care, and pain!
Farewell, thou vulgar and selfish world!

For I never will know thee again.

I live in a land where good fellows abound,
In Thelemé, by the sea;

They may long for a "happier life" that will,-
I am just where I ought to be!

A DREAM OF LOVE.

I DREAMED I lay beside the dark blue Rhine,
In that old tower where once Sir ROLAND dwelt;
Methought his gentle lady-love was mine,
And mine the cares and pain which once he felt.
Dim, cloudy centuries had rolled away,

E'en to that minstrel age-the olden time,
When ROLAND's lady bid him woo no more,
And he, aweary, sought the eastern clime.
Methought that I, like him, had wandered long,

In those strange lands of which old legends tell; Then home I turned to my own glancing Rhine, And found my lady in a convent cell;

And she was dead-yet grieved I not therefore,
For now in Heaven she knew the love I fe
Death could not kill affection, nor destroy

The holy peace wherein I long had dwelt.
Oh, gentle lady! this was but a dream!

And in a dream I bore all this for thee.
If thus in sleep love's pangs assail my soul,
Think, lady, what my waking hours must be

MANES.

THERE'S a time to be jolly, a time to repent,
A season for folly, a season for Lent.
The first as the worst we too often regard,
The rest as the best, but our judgment is hard.
There are snows in December and roses in June,
There's darkness at midnight and sunshine at pac
But were there no sorrow, no storm-cloud or rain,
Who'd care for the morrow with beauty again!
The world is a picture both gloomy and bright,
And grief is the shadow, and pleasure the light,
And neither should smother the general tone;
For where were the other if either were gone!

The valley is lovely, the mountain is drear,
Its summit is hidden in mist all the year;
But gaze from the heaven, high over all weather, a
And mountain and valley are lovely together.
I have learned to love Lucy, though faded she be

If

By the end of next summer, I'll give you my oath,
my next love be lovely, the better for me;
It was best, after all, to have flirted with both
In London or Munich, Vienna, or Rome,
The sage is contented, and finds him a home,
He learns all that is bad, and does all that is good,
And will bite at the apple, by field or by flood.

THE THREE FRIENDS.

And I, like him, had watched through weary years, I HAVE three friends, three glorious friends, three

And dwelt unseen hard by her convent's bound,
In that old tower, which yet stands pitying
The cloister-isle, enclosed by water round.

I long had watched-for in the early morn,
To ope her lattice, came that lady oft;

dearer could not be;

And every night, when midnight tolls, they meet

to laugh with me.

The first was shot by Carlist thieves, three years

ago, in Spain;

And earnestly I gazed, yet naught I saw, [soft. The second drowned, near Alicante, and I alre

Save one small hand and arm, white, fair, and
And when, at eve, the long, dark shadows fell
O'er rock and valley, vineyard, town, and tower,
Again she came-again that small white hand
Would close her lattice for the vesper hour.
I lingered still, e'en when the silent night
Had cast its sable mantle o'er the shrine,

To see her lonely taper's softened light
Gleam, far reflected, o'er the quiet Rhine;

remain.

I love to see their thin white forms come stealing

through the night,

And grieve to see them fade away in the early

morning light.

The first with gnomes in the Under-land is leading

a lordly life,

The second has married a mermaiden, a beautiful

water-wife.

But most I loved to see her form, at times, [fall, And since I have friends in the earth and sea-with

Obscure those beams-for then her shade would

And I beheld it, evenly portrayed—

A living profile, on that window small.
And thus I lived in love-though not in hope-
And thus I watched that maiden many a year,
When, lo! I saw, one morn, a funeral train-
Alas! they bore my lady to her bier!