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Drink of this cup-you'll find there's a spell in

Its every drop ’gainst the ills of mortalityTalk of the cordial that sparcled for Helin,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Would you forget the dark world we are in, Only taste of the bubble that gleams on the top

of it; But would you rise abo:e earth, till akin To immortals themsek es, you must drain every

drop of it. Send round the cup-for, oh! there's a spell in

Its every drop ’gainst the ills of mortalityTalk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

Never was philter form’d with such power
To charm and bewilder as this we sre quaf.

fing; Its magic began when, in Autunn's rich hour, As a harvest of gold ir the fields it stood

laughing.

There, having by nature's enchantment been

fill's With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest

weather, This wonderful juice from its core was distillid,

To enliven such hearts as are here brought too . gether! Then drink of the cup - you'll find there's a.

spell in Its every drop ’gainst the ills of mortality Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

And though, perhaps -- but breathe it to no

one Like cauldrons the witch brews at midnight so

awful, In secret this philter was first taught to flow on,

Yet—'tisn’t less potent for being unlawful. What, though it may taste of the smoke of that

. flame, Which in silence extracted its virtue forbid

denFill up there's a fire in some hearts I could

name, Which may work too its charm, though sow

lawless and hidden,

So drink of the cup-for, oh! there's a spell jo

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortalityTalk of the cordial, that sparkled for Helen,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

THE FORTUNE-TELLER:

! DOWN IN TILE VALLEY COME MEET ME.

Air-Open the Do:r softly

Down in the valley come meet me to-night,

And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever 'twas told, by the new moon's light

To young maiden, shining as'newly.

ut, for the world, let no one be nigh,

Lest haply the stars should deceive me; . These secrets between you and me and the sky

Should never go farther, believe me.'

If at that hour the heavens be not dim,

My science shall call up before you
A male apraritiou—the image of him,

Whose destiny 'tis to adore you.

Then to the phantom be thou but kind,

And round you so fondly he'll hover, You'll hardly my dear any difference find

'Twixt him and a true living lover. Down at your feet, in the pale moon-light,

He'll kneel with a warmth of emotionAn ardour, of which such an innocent sprite

You'd scarcely believe had a notion. What other thoughts and events may arise,

As in Destiny's book I've not seen them. Must only be left to the stars and your eyes

To settle, ere morning, between them.

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Or, ye Dead! Oh, ye Dead! whom we know

by the light you give From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move

like men who live
Why leave you thus your graves;

In far off fields and waves,
Where the worm and the sea-bird only hnow

your bed,
To haunt his spot, where all

Those eyes that wept your fall, And the hearts that bewail'd you, like your own,

lie dead?

It is true--it is true-we are shadows cold and

wan ; It is true-it is true--all the friends we loved are

gone.
But, oh! thus ev’n in death, ..

So sweet is still the breath
Of the fields and the flow’rs in our youth we

wanderd o'er,
That, ere condemn’d we go

To freeze mid Hecla’si snow,
We would taste it awhile, and dream we live

once more!

; Paul Zeland mentions that there is a mountain in mine part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands, walk about and converse with Luose they meet like living people. If asked why they do pot return to their homes, they say, they are obliged Le go to Nount Hecla, and disappear immediately.

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