Music, then, is Moonlight's sister,
Or the twain so well agree,
Thoughts of Cynthia, when we've missed her,
Mar the sweetest harmony.

S. J. BELL.

Estranged Affection.

THE heart may languish, and the eye may

weep,

For those whom Heaven has called from life

and care;

Yet there's an earthly pang than these more deep,

Which sharpens sorrow, and which brings despair,

Which wrings the heart, and lays the bosom

bare.

Yet 'tis not death-each living man must

die;

Death culls the sweetest flower, the form most fair

The one deep cloud which darkens every sky

Is changed affection's cold, averted eye.

ANONYMOUS.

The Ray of Gladness.

THOUGH the moon o'er yonder river
Seems a partial glance to throw,
Kissing waves that brightly quiver,
Whilst the rest in darkness flow-
There's not a ripple of that stream
Unsilvered by some hallowed beam.

Thus in life the bliss that mellows
Ills, that else the soul would blight,
Seems to fall upon our pillows
Like that glance of partial light—
Yet each spirit sunk in sadness,
Feels in turn its ray of gladness.

R. M. WILDE.

A Moral.

ONE riseth by another's fall;
And some do climb so fast,

That in the clouds they do forget
What climates they have past.

WARNER.

The Unknown Way.

A BURNING sky is o'er me,
The sands beneath me glow,
As onward, onward, wearily,
In the sultry morn I go.

From the dusty path there opens,
Eastward, an unknown way;
Above its windings pleasantly,
The woodland branches play.

A silvery brook comes stealing
From the shadow of its trees,
Where slender herbs of the forest stoop

Before the entering breeze.

Along those pleasant windings

I would my journey lay;

Where the shade is cool, and the dew of night Is not yet dried away.

Path of the flowery woodland!

Oh whither dost thou lead,

Wandering by grassy orchard grounds
Or by the open mead?

Goest thou by nestling cottage?

Goest thou by stately hall,

Where the broad elm droops, a leafy dome, And woodbines flaunt on the wall?

By steeps where children gather
Flowers of the yet fresh year?
By lonely walks where lovers stray
Till the tender stars appear?

Or, happy, dost thou linger,

On barren plains, and bare,

Or clamber the bold mountain's side,
Into the thinner air?

Where they, who journey upward,

Walk in a weary track,

And oft upon the shady vale
With longing eyes look back?

I hear a solemn murmur,
And, listening to the sound,

I know the voice of the mighty sea,
Beating his pebbly bound.

Dost thou, O path of the woodland!
End where these waters roar,
Like human life, on a trackless beach
With a boundless sea before?

BRYANT.

She's Beautiful.

SHE's beautiful!-Her raven curls
Have broken hearts, in envious girls ;-
And then they sleep in contrast so,
Like raven feathers upon snow;
And bathe her neck-and shade the bright
Dark eye from which they catch the light,
As if their graceful loops were made
To keep that glorious eye in shade;
And holier make its tranquil spell,
Like waters in a shaded well.
She's noble-noble, one to keep
Embalmed for dreams of fevered sleep.
An eye for nature-taste refined,
Perception swift, and balanced mind,-
And, more than all, a gift of thought,
To such a spirit-fineness wrought,
That on my ear her language fell,

As if each word dissolved a spell.-WILLIS.