Oh, when the room grows slowly dim,
And life's last oil is nearly spent,
One gush of light these eyes will brim,
Only to think she came and went.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

NEVER AGAIN.

EVER again. This shivering rose, that sees
Its dwindled blossoms droop and fall to earth
Before the chillness of the autumn rain,

Will bud next summer with more fair than these-
But when have love's waned smiles a second birth?
Never again, never again.

Never again. Oh, dearest, do you know
All the long mournfulness of such a word?
And even you who smile now on my pain
May seek some day for love lost long ago,
And sigh to the long echo faintly heard-
Never again, never again.

Never again. The love we break to-day
May linger in my heart unto the last;

And even with you some memory must remain,

But ah! no more.

The sunlight died away

Will wake again, but never wakes the past

Never again, never again.

AUGUSTA WEBSTER.

I.

HAT matter-what matter-O friend, though

the Sea

In lines of silvery fire may slide

O'er the sands so tawny and tender and wide,
Murmuring soft as a bee ?-

"No matter, no matter, in sooth," said he:
"But the sunlit sand and the silvery play,
Are a trustful smile long past away :
-No more to me!"

II.

What matter-what matter-dear friend, can it be,
If a long blue stripe, dim-swelling and dark,
Beneath the lighter blue headland, may mark
All of the town we can see ?—

"No matter, no matter, in truth," said he :

"But the streak that fades and fades as we part,

Is a broken voice and a breaking heart:

-No more to me!"

ALFRED DOMETT.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

WEET! in the flow'ry garland of our love,
Where fancy, folly, frenzy, interwove
Our diverse destinies, not all unkind,

A secret strand of purest gold entwined.

While bloomed the magic flowers we scarcely knew The gold was there. But now their petals strew Life's pathway; and instead, with scarce a sigh, We see the cold but fadeless circlet lie.

With scarce a sigh !—and yet the flowers were fair,
Fed by youth's dew and love's enchanted air.
Ay, fair as youth and love; but doomed, alas!
Like these and all things beautiful, to pass.

But this bright thread of unadulterate oreFriendship-will last though Love exist no more ; And though it lack the fragrance of the wreath,— Unlike the flowers, it hides no thorn beneath.

SIR NOEL PATON.

DALLYING.

EAR love, I have not ask'd you yet;
Nor heard you, murmuring low
As wood-doves by a rivulet,

Say if it shall be so.

The colour on your cheek, which plays
Like an imprison'd bliss,
To its unworded language, says,
"Speak, and I'll answer 'Yes.'"

See, pluck this flower of wood-sorrel,
And twine it in your hair;

Its woodland grace becomes you well,
And makes my rose more fair.

Oft you sit 'mid the daisies here,
And I lie at your feet;

Yet day by day goes by ;-I fear
To break a trance so sweet.

As some first autumn tint looks strange,
And wakes a strange regret,

Would your soft "yes" our loving change?-
Love, I'll not ask you yet.

THOMAS ASHE.