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Night holds his watch 'neath a cloudless canopy,

With hanging lamps o'er the bright sea's crest, Till young morning spreads, like a golden panoply,

A flood of day o'er its glassy breast.

Sparkling like dew-drops distilled on sweet violets,

Life's sea of light unruffled lies;
Away darts the ship o'er the silvery breast of it,

Her white sails spread to the breeze, she flies.

Morning hath op'd those golden eyes of hers,

But scarce one glance o'er the world hath shone, When far to the west a gathering cloud appears,

Gleaning the darkness that night had strown.

How tosses the ship when the world goes crabbedly,

When storms of deep affliction rise !
Loud shrieks the blast as the waves roll rapidly,

Till hope amid the tumult dies.

LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIRST OF APRIL, 1862

If nature sanctions all the rules

That govern wind and weather,
Then, by her we are all made fools,

And April fools together.

For when Aurora raised the vail

That shades old Sol's complexion,
A cloudless sky his coming hailed,

Nor raised one slight objection.

The birds rejoiced to see the eye

Of morning beam so gladly;
But ere the day had fleeted by,

They, tou, were fooled most sadly.

The prince of that mysterious power

That keeps the ocean stewing,
Despatched a sprite at midnight hour,

To set a storm a-brewing.

And sure enough, it came blust'ring on

From snow-crowned Alleghany;
And though the morning brightly dawned,

The day was cold and rainy.

So round the cradle often beams

Bright rays of hope and gladness;
But oh, how changed are childhood's dreams,

When age brings scenes of sadness.

A prosperous sun may set at noon,

And leave the future hazy,
A fickle freak of fortune soon

May drive a mortal crazy.

A LEGEND.

In Jersey there lived, as I have been told,

When science was yet in its shell, A worthy old Dutchman, who offered much gold

To any wise man who could tell

How to drive from his cellar a troublesome witch,

Who nightly disturbed his repose, By leading him forth o'er thorn-hedge and ditch,

By a ring made fast in his nose.

“So droubled am I,” said our hero one day,

“Tat I'd giff de pest hoss in me parn, To any old wizard tat may dravel tis vay,

For to trive tis old hag from me varm.

“My cals tey run vild, my cows tey run try,

No putter my voman can make;
My pees leave de hives, my gattles dey dies,

No gomfort at all can I dake.'

One evening when all had retired to bed,

And left the old man in his chair,
He sighed as the darkness grew thicker, and said,

"Ich wold garn ins bet ga won ich darf.”

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But the old mansion shook with a November gale,

Dread spectres were stalking without,
And howl'd through each crevice the horrible tale

That Mynheer was thinking about

Dense wreaths of tobacco smoke curled round his head

While the old kitchen clock, that for years Had measured each moment of time as it sped

Tick'd louder to banish his fears,

But the darkness grew thicker, the candle burnt blue,

A sulphurous smell filled the room,
While the tumult without waxed fiercer, as grev

The clock face more pale in the gloom.

While Van Hochtail thus mused (for that was his name)

The clock in the corner tolled one;
The candle went out, when a fit seized his frame

And he thought, sure the devil is come.

The door was thrown open, a figure rushed in,

A bellowing sound-then a crash;
All consciousness fled, while away on the wind

The Dutchman was borne in a flash.

The whole of that night, in the form of a horse,

He scoured the country around,
With a witch on his back, as a matter of course,

And not until morning he found

Himself in his chair, his hat in his hand,

His pipe and his wig on the floor; The storm had passed off, the morning was clear

And the clock tick'd on as before.

THE HARPER.

RESPEOTFULLY DEDICATED TO MESSRS. HALL AND ARTMAN

BY FRANCES J. OROSBY.

Oh, speak not harshly to the humble poor,
Nor chide the wanderer that with trembling hand
Taps at your door, and in a feeble voice,
Choked with emotion, asks a simple crust,
Which human sympathy could not deny.
Ye little know the wrongs that heart hath borne;
The bitter anguish that hath rudely crushed
Its best affections. Nature is but weak;
And though it long may patiently endure,
May struggle hard to bear its toilsome lot,
Yet there are moments when the aching breast,
Robb’d of its dearest hopes and brightest joys,
Feels like itself a burden, and would fain
Breathe its last sigh, and sleep its last long sleep.
The golden sun had set, and the blue sky,
Yet beautiful with rich crimson tints,
That softly lingered on its azure breast,
Seemed wooing nature to a sweet repose.
Calm and serene the evening star looked forth,
As if to chant His praise who gave her birth;
All, all was lovely; 'twas the hallowed hour
When memory whispers of long-absent ones,
And bears us back to days and years gone by.
A weary man, whose form was bent with age,
Whose silver locks were floating on the breeze,
That seemed to pity as it passed him by,
Had turned, dejected, from the busy throng,
And with a look which might bave moved a heart
Of adamant, was wending his lone way

Towards his humble cottage. All day long
Through crowded streets his wild harp he had borne,
And o'er and o'er its rustic airs had played,
To those who heeded not, till, sick at heart,
When the dim shadows of the twilight came,
He gathered up his scanty pittance, and
Covering his face with his shriveled hand,
He wept, not for himself, but for his child.
Within a drear and comfortless abode,
On a rude couch, a gentle girl reclined;
Her cheek was pale as marble, and her eye
Turned ever and anon, with restless glance,
Toward the open casement. Hark! 'tis hel
She faintly murmured, while a placid smile
O'erspread her pallid features. Yes; 'tis he;
My father! And the old man slowly bent
O'er that loved form, and pressed his lips to hers.
There was a change, a sad and fearful change,
Since he had left her at the early morn;
And he felt that the icy hand of death
Was at her heart. 'Twas more than he could bear.
My child, he said, the staff of

my
old

age,
How can I lose thee! Thou wert all to me;
And who will comfort me when thou art gone!
God will protect thee, (was the quick response,
Father! she paused for breath, then suddenly,
As if a light had burst upon her soul,—
Father, ere from the world and thee I part,
There is a secret I would fain disclose.
Dost thou remember Rodolph & At that name
She slightly trembled, but her voice grew calm
As she proceeded: Near our happy cot, my childhood home,
There was a shady nook, o'erhung with woodbines and the

evergreen,
And there at eve, with Rodolph by my side,
While the light zephyrs with their silken wings,
Fanned the sweet flowers that slept beneath our feet,
I listened to the gentle words he breathed.
He sought my hand-my heart had long boon his;

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