THE WAVES THAT ON THE SPARKLING

SAND.

MRS. E. F. ELLET.

THE waves that on the sparkling sand
Their foaming crests upheave,
Lightly receding from the land,
Seem not a trace to leave.

Those billows in their ceaseless play,
Have worn the solid rocks away.

The summer winds, which wandering sigh

Amid the forest bower,

So gently as they murmur by,

Scarce lift the drooping flower.

Yet bear they, in autumnal gloom,
Spring's withered beauties to the tomb.

Thus worldly cares, though lightly borne,
Their impress leave behind;

And spirits, which their bonds would spurn,
The blighting traces find.

"Till altered thoughts and hearts grown cold,
The change of passing years unfold.

WOMAN! I'VE HELD THY HAND IN MINE.

BY JOHN NEAL.

WOMAN! I've held thy hand in mine,
And looked into thine eyes-
And seen, I dare not tell thee what-
Nor anger, nor surprise :

No bleaching of thy crimson lip;

No trembling of thy breath;
No flushing of that lofty brow-
Immoveable as death.

And yet, when first I touched thy hand,
And looked into thine eyes,
I saw thee tremble, and their hue
Change like the changing skies:
I felt the heave-I saw the swell
Of maiden tumult, where,
I see but now, I feel but now
Untroubled thoughts in prayer.

Thy spirit hushed and motionless,
Thy very breathing strange-
Thy touch, no longer passionate,-
Oh woman! what a change!

I look, and lo! a thousand wings
Are gathering round about-
And from thy coronet of fire,
The stars are dropping out!

Thou'rt married!-well-and so am I!
And yet I come to thee,
As if no other heart alive

Had any claim on me :

And thou-dear woman!-didst thou feel
Thyself another's now—

Think what a flush of shame would flit
Over thy lofty brow!

Thou tremblest !-ah!-a tear!-a tear!
And if I read thee right,

Though married, thou wouldst have me near
Thee, in the coming night!
Well! be it so! I know not why,

If there's another life

A man of generous heart may not
Love tenderly his wife!

THE MELLOW HORN.

BY GEORGE W. HYATT.

AT dawn, Aurora gaily breaks,
In all her proud attire,
Majestic o'er the glassy lakes,
Reflecting liquid fire;

All nature smiles, to usher in
The blushing queen of morn,
And huntsmen with the day begin
To wind the Mellow Horn.

At eve when gloomy shades obscure
The tranquil shepherd's cot,

When tinkling bells are heard no more,
And daily toil forgot;

"Tis then the sweet enchanting note,

On zephyrs gently borne,

With witching cadence seems to float Around the Mellow Horn.

At night when all is hushed and drear,
And starlight on the deep;
When lambkins housed from every fear,
Are lulled in balmy sleep;
'Tis then the plighted lover flies,

With flaxen locks unshorn,
Beneath the cottage window sighs,

And winds the Mellow Horn.

THE SNOW DROP.

BY MISS HELEN MATHEWS.

A SNOW-FLAKE fell from the summer sky,
As though it had burst its chain,
Where it lies enthralled in the realms on high
Until winter appears again.

It chanced to fall in a garden fair,
Where every flowret grew,
Watched by a guardian angel's care,
Who bathed them all in dew;

It rested near a blooming rose,
That shed its fragrance round,
Folding its leaves in soft repose
To a fountain's silvery sound.

The angel smiled on it resting there,
And thus addressed the snow :-
"What dost thou here, fair child of air,
While the summer sunbeams glow?"

The snow-flake said, "Thy flowers have died, "From the scorching sun on high; "And, when above, I have often sighed "To see their colours fly.