While Reason took

To his sermon-book

Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt.

Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage,
Turn'd for a moment to Reason's dull page,
Till Folly said,

"Look here, sweet maid !”—

The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; While Reason read

His leaves of lead,

With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!
No,-n
-no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!

Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap; Had he that on, he her heart might entrap"There it is,"

Quoth Folly, "old quiz!”

(Folly was always good-natured, 'tis said.) "Under the sun

There's no such fun,

As Reason with my cap and bells on his head,
Reason with my cap and bells on his head!"

But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, That Beauty now liked him still less than before; While Folly took

Old Reason's book,

And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ton,
That Beauty vow'd

(Though not aloud),

She liked him still better in that than his own,

Yes,-liked him still better in that than his own.

ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON.

'LONE in crowds to wander on,

And feel that all the charm is gone

Which voices dear and eyes beloved

Shed round us once, where'er we roved

This, this the doom must be

Of all who've loved, and lived to see

The few bright things they thought would stay

For ever near them, die away.

Tho' fairer forms around us throng,
Their smiles to others all belong,

And want that charm which dwells alone
Round those the fond heart calls its own.
Where, where the sunny brow?

The long-known voice-where are they now?
Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain,
The silence answers all too plain.

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth,
If all her art cannot call forth
One bliss like those we felt of old

From lips now mute, and eyes now cold?
No, no,-her spell is vain,—

As soon could she bring back again

Those eyes themselves from out the grave,

As wake again one bliss they gave.

THE INDIAN BOAT.

WAS 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

Rich bark before him floated;

Like

While on the prize

His wishful eyes

any young lover's doated:

"More sail! more sail!" he cries,

While the waves o'ertop the mast ;

And his bounding galley flies,
Like an arrow before the blast.

Thus on, and on,

Till day was gone,

And the moon through heaven did hie her,

He swept the main,

But all in vain,

That boat seem'd never the nigher.

And many a day

To night gave way,

And many a morn succeeded:

While still his flight,

Through day and night,

That restless mariner speeded.

Who knows-who knows what seas

He is now careering o'er?

Behind, the eternal breeze,

And that mocking bark, before!

For, oh, till sky

And earth shall die,

And their death leave none to rue it,

That boat must flee

O'er the boundless sea,

And that ship in vain pursue it.