That glimpse of home, so cheering,

At twilight still appearing,

But still, with morning's ray,
Melting, like mist, away!

Where rests the Pilgrim now?
Here, by this cypress bough,

Closed his career;

That dream, of fancy's weaving,
No more his steps deceiving,

Alike past hope and fear,

The Pilgrim's home is here.

THE HIGH-BORN LADYE.

IN vain all the Knights of the Underwald wooed her, Tho' brightest of maidens, the proudest was she; Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her,

But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye.

"Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, so excelling, "That Knight must the conqu'ror of conquerors

be;

"He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in ;

"None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!"

Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her

On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree; Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her,

And worshipp'd at distance the high-born Ladye.

At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo her,

With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea; His vizor was down-but, with voice that thrill'd through her,

He whisper'd his vows to the high-born Ladye.

"Proud maiden! I come with high spousals to grace

thee,

"In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see; "Enthroned in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place thee, "And mine thou'rt for ever, thou high-born

Ladye!"

The maiden she smiled, and in jewels array'd her,
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she;
And proud was the step, as her bridegroom convey'd

her

In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye.

"But whither," she, starting, exclaims, "have you led me?

"Here's nought but a tomb and a dark cypress

tree;

"Is this the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed me?"

With scorn in her glance said the high-born Ladye.

"'Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest

Then lifted his helm for the fair one to see;

But she sunk on the ground- -'twas a skeleton's features,

And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye!

THE INDIAN BOAT.

'TWAS midnight dark,

The seaman's bark,

Swift o'er the waters bore him,

When, through the night,

He spied a light

Shoot o'er the wave before him.

"A sail! a sail!" he cries;

"She comes from the Indian shore,

"And to-night shall be our prize, "With her freight of golden ore:

"Sail on! sail on!"

When morning shone

He saw the gold still clearer;

But, though so fast

The waves he pass'd,

That boat seem'd never the nearer.

Bright daylight came,

And still the same