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What is most Beautiful.

“What is most beautiful, hill or dale, Forest or prairie, mountain or vale? Answer me, Dryads, from breezy shade, By cooling stream or in woodland glade !" And a low, sweet whisper was on the air“ The soul of the beautiful dwells not there." “Kingly old mountains, so stately now, With your crowns of snow on each hoary

brow, Speak from your seats of a thousand years, What is most beautiful, cloud-wrapp'd seers ?" And a voice came down in the pine-woods

drear“The soul of the beautiful dwells not here."

“Ocean, old ocean, thou rollest along, Chiming to heaven thy ceaseless song, Zoning the earth with thy boundless sea, Surely, more beautiful nought could be !" And a Naiad sang from the blue depths near“ The soul of the beautiful dwells not here."

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Stars, as ye hymn in your orbs on high, Stars, as ye wheel in the mystic sky, Stars, prophet-stars, in your seer-like tones, Answer me down from your burning thrones !” And a voice was heard, as a voice from a

bier- The soul of the beautiful dwells not here."

I ceased, but a sound went by me still,
And echoed each old eternal hill,
Murmured the wood, the sea, and the plain,
And sang the stars from their high domain-
“In the maiden meek, in the maiden fair,
Oh! look for the soul of the beautiful there."

C. J. PETERSON.

A Child's face.

Oh! looking on a child's fair face

Methinks should purify the heart;
As angel presences have grace

To bid the darker powers depart,
And glorify our grosser sense;
With a reflected innocence !

Hon. MRS. NORTON.

All Men are Brothers.

ALL men are brothers, speak to them as such :
Kind words are moneys put at usury,
Which yearly grow with added interest,
Until the sum's a mountain. Ne'er omit
The chance to make you friends. Buoys they

are

Laid down in Life's wild channel ; and when

storms Come up, and blackness shrouds the watery

waste, Their aid may frighten shipwreck from your side.

ANONYMOUS.

The Spring of Love.

Oh, how the spring of love resembleth

The uncertain glory of an April day; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away.

SHAKSPEARE.

My Love.

She loves her kind, and shuns no duty;
Her virtues sanctify her beauty;
And all who know her say that she
Was born for man's felicity-
I know that she was born for mine.
Dearer than any joy of wine,
Or pomp, or gold, or man's loud praise,

Or purple power, art thou to me-
Kind cheerer of my clouded ways-
Young vine upon a rugged tree!

Proem to the FROISSART BALLADS."

The Star's Reply.
Thou bad'st me shine--and when my ray

Won thee to thoughts of heaven,
From earth and “ care and toil away,”

My light was freely given.
Would'st thou a star's love-beam retain

To guide thine earthly way?
Then know-thy thoughts must pure remain

Beneath its heavenly ray.” ANON.

Peigh-ho.

LIKE the dew-drop born

From the blush of morn, Is the girl I love, heigh-ho!

A lily's her cheek,

Where the rose blooms meek, And she's mild as a dove, heigh-ho!

She folds her heart

From the world apart,
Like a flower at night, heigh-ho!

Though she shrinks away

From the garish day; Of her home she's the light, heigh-ho!

As the altar spark

That illumes the dark, She's ever the same,

heigh-ho!

, Shining Sure from heav'n she came, heigh-ho !

Or a calna.wn afar,

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