Would sweethearts give less heed to news
Which second-hand they gain,

They would not have so oft to sigh,
Or think they love in vain.
Seeing's believing, and till I
See him I love do wrong,
I give suspicion to the winds,
What think you of my song?

LOVE AT FIRST-SIGHT.

LET no one say that there is need
Of time for love to grow:
Ah no! the love that kills indeed
Dispatches at a blow.

The spark which but by slow degrees
Is nursed into a flame,

Is habit, friendship, what you please;
But love is not its name.

For love to be completely true,
It death at sight doth deal,
Should be the first one ever knew!
In short, be that I feel.

To write, to sigh, and to converse,
For years to play the fool;
'Tis to put passion out to nurse,
And send one's heart to school.

Love all at once should from the earth
Start up full grown and tall;
If not an Adam at his birth,

He is no love at all.

THE FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER.

"There's wisdom in the grass-its teaching would we heed

THEKE knelt beneath the tulip tree

A maiden fair and young;

The flowers o'er head bloomed gorgeously,.

As though by rainbows flung,

And all around were daisies bright,
And pansies with their eyes of light;
Like gold the sun-kissed crocus shone,

With Beauty's smiles the earth seemed strown,
And Love's warm incense filled the air,
While the fair girl was kneeling there.

In vain the flowers may woo around-
Their charms she does not see,
For she a dearer prize has found
Beneath the tulip tree :

A little four-leaved clover, green
As the robes that grace the fairy queen,
And fresh as hopes of early youth,
When life is love, and love is truth-
A talisman of constant love

This humble clover sure will prove!

And on her heart that gentle maid
The severed leaves has pressed,
Which through the coming night's dark shade
Beneath her cheek will rest:

Then precious dreams of one will rise,
Like Love's own star in morning skies,
So sweetly bright, we would the day
His glowing chariot might delay.
What tones of pure and tender thought
Those simple leaves to her have taught!

Of old the sacred misletoe

The Druid's altar bound;
The Roman hero's haughty brow
The fadeless laurel crowned.

Dark superstition's sway is past,
And war's red star is waning fast,
Nor misletoe nor laurel hold

The mystic language breathed of cld;
For nature's life no power can give,
To bid the false and selfish live.

But still the olive-leaf imparts,
As when, dove-borne, at first,

It taught heaven's lore to human hearts-
In hope, and joy, and trust;
Nor deem the faith from folly springs,
Which innocent enjoyments brings;

Better from earth root every flower,
That crush imagination's power,
In true and loving minds, to raise
An Eden for their coming days.

As on each rock, where plants can cling,
The sunshine will be shed-
As from the tiniest star-lit spring,
The ocean's depths are fed-

Thus hopes will rise, if love's clear ray
Keep warm and bright love's rock-strewn way;
And from small, daily joys, distilled,
The heart's deep fount of peace is filled:
Oh, blest when Fancy's ray is given,

Like the ethereal spark, from Heaven!

YOU ASK OF WHAT I'M THINKING.

You ask of what I'm thinking,

You mark my brow o'ercast,

You long to learn the secret;
I'm thinking of the past.
Bright hours of pure enjoyment,
I trusted would remain;
Alas! they all are vanished,
Ne'er to return again.

Where is the tender parent,
Who at the close of day,
Would by my side be kneeling,
And with her offspring pray?
Where is the little sister

Who came at beck and call,
Where are the merry play-mates?
The answer is-gone all.

You ask of what I'm thinking,

You mark my brow o'ercast,
You long to learn the secret;
I'm thinking of the past.

And where is she who met me,
And listen'd to my song;
And hoped for years to cheer me,
Life's rugged path along?