'Speed, speed my bark! life's laughing seas Are not as false as fair

The white sail fills-cold blows the breeze

And rocks have darkened there!

The voice of Autumn! earth receives

The summons of decay

Rustling around, the yellow leaves
Bestrew the wanderer's way.

No bloom or balm to cheer the hours;
The blithe bird sings no more:

Hoarse brawls the stream in forest bow'rs,
That murmured sweet before:

Through the black woodland, dim and pale
The dying hills appear;

And hark! the moaning night-winds wail
The requiem of the year!

Hearts! where misfortune has effaced

The sunrise beams of youth;

And cold experience truly traced,

'Earth is no home for truth;'

Fame, friendship, pleasure-vainly bought—

Love-wasted to a sigh

Dark night descending-ere ye thought

The gentle evening nigh:

What hope remains? 'lone Autumn's smile

To mourners kindly given

Wasted on changing earth awhile

Beams from unchanging heaven.'

BY F. S. ECKARD

NIGHT! solitary night!

Sleep on the weary, pleasant dreams for wo,
On the worn heart a freshness and delight,
Dost thou bestow:

Birds on the sheltering nest,

Young flowers unfolded to the dewy air,
And thought ascending to the worlds of rest,
Thy sway declare.

With thee a shadowy band,

Rise like remembered music on our ears,
And vanished hope, whose arch of promise spanned
The coming years.

Night! solitary night!

Bards of undying fame and power are thine,
Shedding rich gleams of intellectual light

Around thy shrine:

Oh, how wert thou adored,

When the Chaldean read thy bright array,
And science through the starry maze explored
Her radiant way!

Awak'ner of high thought;

And passion struggling with the solid earth!

By thee mankind are eloquently taught
Their primal worto.

Night! solitary night!

Immortal pages, glowing with deep song, And minds inspired outwinging human flight To thee belong!

TO A FRIEND.

FAREWELL! perchance we meet no more

Upon this dreary earth;

Fill up! for parting hours should be
The tempest-time of mirth;
Too soon they'll pass, and weariness
Cling to this heart and thine-

So let us tinge the coming cloud
With the rosy flash of wine.

Thou just one! in thy spirit
The ancient spirit burns;
Its truth, its courage, and its faith
Beam from thine eye by turns:
I throw me on thy trusting breast
And starts the unbidden tear-
A tribute on the unsullied shrine
Of thy affection here.

TO A FRIEND.

They told thee I was stern and cold,

And bade thee turn away

From one by his own feeling doomed

To wither and decay—

Fools! little know they that the heart
Now throbbing 'gainst thine own
Resigns its citadel to pride—
To tenderness its throne.

Fill up! and when the golden wine
Touches the sparkling brim,
We'll drink the memory of that star
Whose light grew early dim

Our friend-our brother-he who rests
On the far Indian shore-

His cheerful smile and manly song

Can gladden us no more.

Peace to his ashes! o'er his grave

The screaming sea-bird wheels;
The silver wave, with timid step,
To kiss its bosom steals,
The spicy winds moan over it
A sadly musical strain-

But fill! here's the name of MILLER

Once more-again-again!

Alas, alas, that MEMORY

Should be still in love with Wo;

That her brightest glances linger

On the dreariest spots below,

233

234

THE BILLET DOUX.

Look on her storied tablet

The page thy soul reveres...
Doth it tell of storm or sunshine?
Of smiles or bitter tears?

Farewell! perchance we meet no more
Upon this dreary earth;
Fill up for parting hours should be
The tempest-time of mirth;
Be there one word for a talisman
Fore'er 'twixt thee and me-

A spell to conjure pleasant dreams-
That word is 'CONSTANCY.'

THE BILLET-DOUX.

IN ages long past, when the Paphian bower
Was dear to the Graces, and sacred to Love,
With wings like a zephyr's, from flower to flower,
There moved in its shadows a beautiful dove.

And over the pillow of Cupid was heard
At morn and at evening the song of his bird.

But Cupid, who fled from the side of his mother,
To rove with Ianthe and play with her hair,
Committing one negligence after another,

Was banished a season from Paphos the fair. "Temptation avoid!' cried the goddess-Love heard And fled, but Ianthe protected his bird.