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A FLIGHT OF FANCY.

A FLIGHT OF FANCY.

BY PARK BENJAMIN.

SWEET Fancy, golden-pinioned bird,
Once left awhile his starry nest,
To float upon the breeze that stirred

The plumage of his glistening breast. Sometimes in gem-hung caves delaying, And then through spicy forests straying, He wandered 'mid those blessed isles That dimple Ocean's cheek with smiles; He dallied with the merry wave,

And, diving through the glassy water, Brought, in his beak, from its shell-cave,

A pearl, Circassia's loveliest daughter,
In the rich clustering of her hair,
Might blush with very pride to wear!

Then tired of sport like this, he flew

Along the deep in beauty sleeping, 'To that sweet clime, whose sky of blue Is, with its chastened splendors, steeping A land, whose river's rosy tide

Is blushing like a virgin bride,

Whose mountains high and emerald vales
Are kissed by incense-laden gales.
And there, o'er ruins ivy-wreathed,
He heard pure music sweetly breathed;
O'er moss-decked arch and broken shrine,

A FLIGHT OF FANCY.

He saw their ancient glory shine.
Yet here, amid his favorite bowers,

Where once he dearly loved to dwell,
In this delicious land of flowers,

Where Memory, with magic spell,
Creates new forms of joy and light,
He could not stay his restless wing;
But, shaking thence the dew-drops bright,
He plucked the first red rose of spring;
Then, blending with the heavenly blue,
Like arrowy gleam, away he flew.

Where next did gold-plumed Fancy roam?
He sought the bright star's brightest ray
That decks his own celestial home,
And bore it in his glance away.
Then, when the sunset richly burned,
Unto the earth once more he turned;
And, as his wing grew tired and weak,
He found a lovely lady's bower,
And on her lip, and o'er her cheek
Softly suffused the pearl and flower;
Then in her dark eye's brilliancy

He shot the star-gleam from his own,
And, charmed as much as bird could be,
Flew back to his far, starry throne!

This happened years ago-but now,

Each pretty maiden, when she hears Of locks that cluster round a brow,

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THE DILEMMA.

Which, like the stainless snow appears; Of cheeks whose mingled red and white

Are like red roses crushed on pearl; Of eyes whose clear and mellow light Gleams like a star's where clouds unfurl;Looks archly up and answers you,

"That on the very homeliest face Can Fancy shed his beauteous hue, And in a tame expression trace

A smile as soft as heaven's own blue
That he will seek, through earth and air,
For charms, to make divinely fair
And statue-like, a little creature,
Who has a twist in every feature;
And deck her so (your pardon craving)
That she might set ten poets raving!'

THE DILEMMA.

BY O. W. HOLMES.

Now, by the blessed Paphian queen,
Who heaves the breast of sweet sixteen;
By every name I cut on bark

Before my morning star grew dark;
By Hymen's torch, by Cupid's dart,
By all that thrills the beating heart;
The bright black eye, the melting blue,-
I cannot choose between the two.

THE DILEMMA.

I had a vision in my dreams

I saw a row of twenty beams;

From every beam a rope was hung,
In every rope a lover swung.
I asked the hue of every eye
That bade each luckless lover die;
Ten livid lips said, heavenly blue,
And ten accused the darker hue.

I asked a matron, which she deemed
With fairest light of beauty beamed;
She answered, some thought both were fair-
Give her blue eyes and golden hair.

I might have liked her judgment well,
But as she spoke, she rung the bell,
And all her girls, nor small nor few,
Came marching in-their eyes were blue.

I asked a maiden; back she flung
The locks that round her forehead hung,
And turned her eye, a glorious one,
Bright as a diamond in the sun,
On me, until, beneath its rays,

I felt as if my hair would blaze;

She liked all eyes but eyes of green;

She looked at me; what could she mean?

Ah! many lids Love lurks between,
Nor heeds the coloring of his screen;
And when his random arrows fly,

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A LOVE LETTER.

The victim falls, but knows not why.
Gaze not upon his shield of jet,
The shaft upon the string is set;
Look not beneath his azure veil,
Though every limb were cased in mail.

Well both might make a martyr break
The chain that bound him to the stake,
And both, with but a single ray,
Can melt our very hearts away;
And both, when balanced, hardly seem
To stir the scales, or rock the beam;
But that is dearest, all the while,
That wears for us the sweetest smile.

wwwww

A LOVE LETTER.

BY J. G. W.

O, COME to me this very eve, for I am all alone, A weeping by my writing desk, and Pa and Ma have gone

They say that you are going off-that Pa has used you ill

But if he has, depend upon 't, his daughter never will!

We had that ugly lawyer here, to dine with us to

day,

And Ma took pains to speak to him in her parental

way