Farewell! thy course is in the sun,

First of the young, the brave; For me, my race is nearly run, And its goal is the grave.

SONG TO THE EVENING STAR.

STAR that bringest home the bee,

And sett'st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou

That send'st it from above;

Appearing when heaven's breath and brow

Are sweet as her we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies

Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs, when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse,
Their remembrancer in heaven
Of thrilling vows, thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart,

Campbell.

STANZAS TO

Byron.

THOUGH the day of my destiny's over
And the star of my fate hath declined,
Thy soft heart refused to discover

The faults which so many could find :
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,
It shrunk not to share it with me,

And the love which my spirit hath painted
It never hath found but in thee.

Then when nature around me is smiling
The last smile which answers to mine,
I do not believe it beguiling

Because it reminds me of thine:

And when winds are at war with the ocean,
As the breasts I believed in with me,
If their billows excite an emotion

It is that they bear me from thee.

Though the rock of my fast hope is shiver'd,
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
Though I feel that my soul is delivered
To pain, it shall not be its slave.

There is many a pang to pursue me:

They may crush, but they shall not contemn They may torture, but shall not subdue me'Tis of thee that I think-not of them.

Though human, thou didst not deceive me,

Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake ;Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, Nor mute, that the world might belie.

Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with one-

If

my soul was not fitted to prize it, 'Twas folly not sooner to shun : And if dearly that error hath cost me, And more than I once could foresee, I have found that whatever it lost me, It could not deprive me of thee.

From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd,
Thus much I at least may recall—

It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd,
Deserved to be dearest of all:

In the desert a fountain is springing,

In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.

BRING FLOWERS.

Mrs. Hemans.

BRING flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreathe the cup ere the wine is pour'd:

Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale,
Their breath floats out on the southern gale,
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path-
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath!
He comes with the spoils of nations back;
The vines lie crushed in his chariot's track;
The turf looks red where he won the day-
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way!

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell ;
Of the free blue stream, and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye.
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And a dream of his youth-bring him flowers, wild flowers,

Bring flowers, fresh flowers for the bride to wear!
They were born to blush in her shining hair:
She is leaving the home of her childish mirth;
She has bid farewell to her father's hearth;

Her place is now by another's side-
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair

young

bride!

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead!

For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst;
For this in the woods was the violet nurst.

Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift-bring ye flowers, pale flowers.

Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer-
They are nature's offering, their place is there!
They speak of Hope to the fainting heart;
With a voice of promise they come and part.

They sleep in dust through the wintry hours;

They break forth in glory-bring flowers, bring flowers!

STANZAS TO

I HEARD thy voice in the evening breeze,
In the music of the moonlight seas;

Anonymous.

I saw thy blush in the summer sky,
As its clouds of rose soft floated by;
And the stars of Heaven beam'd on my view
Remembrance of thine eyes' bright blue !
Nor sea, nor sky, nor earth, to me

But some resemblance show'd of thee.

When glitter'd round me pleasure's beam,
I turn'd away of thee to dream-
Did care or sadness cloud my day,

One thought, and all was chased away;