THE YOUNG ROSE.

THE young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright, Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath hung, And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay he sung.

Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow from thee; For, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.

WHEN 'MIDST THE GAY I MEET.

WHEN 'midst the gay I meet

That gentle smile of thine,

Though still on me it turns most sweet,

I scarce can call it mine:

But when to me alone

Your secret tears you show,

Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.

Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;

Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

The snow on Jura's steep

Can smile in many a beam,

Yet stili in chains of coldness sleep,
How bright soe'er it seem.

But, when some deep-felt ray,
Whose touch is fire, appears,

Oh, then the smile is warm'd away,
And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.

WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.

WHEN twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,

I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.

And thou too, on that orb so dear,
Dost often gaze at even,

And think, though lost for ever here,
Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven.

There's not a garden walk I tread,
There's not a flower I see, love,

But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
Some joy that's gone with thee, love.
And still I wish that hour was near,

When, friends and foes forgiven,

The pains, the ills we've wept through here, May turn to smiles in heaven.

YOUNG JESSICA.

YOUNG Jessica sat all the day,

With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining;

Her needle bright beside her lay,

So active once !-now idly shining.

Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts

That love and mischief are most nimble;

The safest shield against the darts

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.

The child, who with a magnet plays,
Well knowing all its arts, so wily,

The tempter near a needle lays,

And laughing says, "We'll steal it slily."

The needle, having nought to do,

Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle; Till closer, closer come the two,

And-off, at length, elopes the needle.