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And oh! when death comes in terrors, to cast,
His fears on the future, his pall on the past,

In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart,
And a smile in thine eye, "look aloft" and depart!

OH, WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD.

BY MARY E. BROOKS.

Он, weep not for the dead!
Rather, oh rather give the tear
To those that darkly linger here,
When all besides are fled;
Weep for the spirit withering
In its cold cheerless sorrowing,
Weep for the young and lovely one
That ruin darkly revels on;

But never be a tear-drop shed
For them, the pure enfranchised dead.

Oh, weep not for the dead!
No more for them the blighting chill,
The thousand shades of earthly ill,
The thousand thorns we tread;
Weep for the life-charm early flown,
The spirit broken, bleeding, lone;

Weep for the death pangs of the heart,
Ere being from the bosom part;

But never be a tear-drop given

To those that rest in yon blue heaven.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN GIRL.

BY J. M. SMITH, JUN.

O GIVE me back my forest shade,
Where once I roamed so blithe and gay,
Where with my dusky mates I strayed,
In childhood's blest and happy day.
They told me in the white man's home
I'd soon forget my woodlands wild;
And never wish again to roam,

The simple native forest child.

They told me of a happier sphere,

Where, when the dream of life was o'er, The cherished friends that I'd known here Would meet me there to part no more! I listened fondly to their theme,

As bright they painted scenes of bliss; But vanished now is that sweet dream, And sadness broods o'er hours like this.

Each rustling of the forest tree,

That's waked by gentle zephyrs bland,
Bears in its murm'ring sound to me,
Some vision of my native land!
Then give me back my forest shade,
Where once I roamed so blithe and gay,
Where with my dusky mates I strayed,
In childhood's blest and happy day.

MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE.

BY R. H. WILDE.

My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground to die:
But on that rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
As if she wept such waste to see-
But none shall weep a tear for me.

My life is like the autumn leaf,

That trembles in the moon's pale ray; Its hold is frail-its date is brief

Restless, and soon to pass away:

Yet ne'er that leaf shall fall and fade,
The parent tree shall mourn its shade,
The winds bewail the leafless tree-
But none shall breathe a sigh for me.

My life is like the print which feet
Have left on Tempe's desert strand→→→
Soon as the rising tide shall beat,

His track will vanish from the sand;
Yet, as if grieving to efface

All vestige of the human race,

On that lone shore loud moans the sea-
But none shall e'er lament for me!

THE MERMAID'S CAVE.

BY MISS H. F. GOULD.

COME, mariner, down in the deep with me,
And hide thee under the wave;

For I have a bed of coral for thee,
And quiet and sound shall thy slumbers be,
In a cell of the mermaid's cave.

And she who is waiting with cheek so pale,
At the tempest and ocean's roar;
And weeps when she hears the menacing gale,
Or sighs to behold her mariner's sail,

Come whitening up to the shore;

She has not long to linger for thee,

Her sorrows will soon be o'er,

For the cord shall be broken, the prisoners free,
Her eye shall close, and her dreams will be
So sweet, she will wake no more.

I LEFT THEE WHERE I FOUND THEE, LOVE.

BY MRS. HARRIET MUZZY.

I LEFT thee where I found thee, love,
Throned gaily in those laughing eyes;
'Twere folly to have bound thee, love,
For love is loveliest while he flies.
'Twas safest, best to leave thee, love,
For flight may end both hopes and fears;
I did not wish to grieve thee, love,

For love's resistless when in tears.

At distance I may view thee, love,

Unchecked by glances, smiles, or sighs;
Thou didst not dream I knew thee, love,
So wrapped in friendship's deep disguise.
No splendid shrine I made thee, love,
Thy presence hallowed every spot;
No kind farewell I bade thee, love,
For love's last look is ne'er forgot.

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