ROUND THE WORLD GOES. ROUND the world goes, by day and night,

While with it also round go we; And in the flight of one day's light

An image of all life's course we see. Round, round, while thus we go round, The best thing a man can do,

Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round, By sending the wine round too.

Our first gay stage of life is when

Youth in its dawn salutes the eyeSeason of bliss! Oh, who would n't then Wish to cry, "Stop! " to earth and sky?

But, round, round, both boy and girl

Are whisked thro' that sky of blue; And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl,

If their heads did n't whirl round too.

Next, we enjoy our glorious noon,

Thinking all life a life of light; But shadows come on, 't is evening soon, And ere we can say, "How short!" 't is night.

Round, round, still all goes round,

Even while I'm thus singing to you; And the best way to make it a merry-goround,

Is to

- chorus my song round too.

OH, DO NOT LOOK SO BRIGHT AND BLEST.

OH, do not look so bright and blest,

For still there comes a fear,
When brow like thine looks happiest,
That grief is then most near.
There lurks a dread in all delight,

A shadow near each ray,
That warns us then to fear their flight,

When most we wish their stay.
Then look not thou so bright and blest,

For ah! there comes a fear,
When brow like thine looks happiest,
That grief is then most near.

Why is it thus that fairest things

The soonest fleet and die?— That when most light is on their wings, They 're then but spread to fly!

Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten

A sweet holy charm that mirth never knew.

But when some lively strain resounding Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow,

Then the young reindeer o'er the hills bounding

Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou.

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest,

A lustre so pure thy features then wear,

That, when to some star that bright eye thou raisest,

We feel 't is thy home thou 'rt looking for there.

But when the word for the gay dance is given,

So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth,

Oh then we exclaim, "Ne'er leave earth for heaven,

"But linger still here, to make heaven of earth."

THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.

FLY swift, my light gazelle,

To her who now lies waking,

To hear thy silver bell

The midnight silence breaking. And, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet,

Beneath her lattice springing, Ah, well she 'll know how sweet The words of love thou 'rt bringing.

Yet, no- not words, for they

But half can tell love's feeling;
Sweet flowers alone can say

What passion fears revealing.
A once bright rose's withered leaf,
A towering lily broken, -
Oh these may paint a grief

No words could e'er have spoken.

Not such, my gay gazelle,

The wreath thou speedest over

ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE. Ask not if still I love,

Too plain these eyes have told thee; Too well their tears must prove

How near and dear I hold thee.
If, where the brightest shine,
To see no form but thine,
To feel that earth can show
No bliss above thee,
If this be love, then know

That thus, that thus, I love thee.

'T is not in pleasure's idle hour That thou canst know affection's power.

No, try its strength in grief or pain;

Attempt as now its bonds to sever, Thou 'lt find true love 's a chain That binds for ever!

DEAR? YES.

DEAR? yes, tho' mine no more,
Even this but makes thee dearer;
And love, since hope is o'er,
But draws thee nearer.

Change as thou wilt to me,
The same thy charm must be;
New loves may come to weave
Their witchery o'er thee,
Yet still, tho' false, believe

That I adore thee, yes, still adore
thee.

Think'st thou that aught but death could end

A tie not falsehood's self can rend?
No, when alone, far off I die,

No more to see, no more caress thee, Even then, my life's last sigh

Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless thee.