Oh, you, that have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound,
As in the fields of bliss above,

He sits, with flowerets fettered round ;-
Loose not a tie that round him clings,
Nor ever let him use his wings;
For even an hour, a minute's flight
Will rob the plumes of half their light.
Like that celestial bird, whose nest
Is found beneath far eastern skies,

Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when he flies!

SONG.

Fly to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;
But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt
Of tents with love, or thrones without!

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope The silvery-footed antelope

As gracefully and gaily springs

As o'er the marble courts of kings.

Then come,--thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,—
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;

As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then!

So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone ;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years!

Then fly with me,-if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hast sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure
and fresh as mine for thee,-
Fresh as the fountain under ground,
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.

But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place ;-

Then, fare thee well,—I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake,
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine.

MY BIRTH-DAY.

"My birth-day"-what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
And how, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears!

When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And, as Youth counts the shining links,

That Time around him binds so fast, Pleased with the task, he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last.

Vain was the man, and false as vain,
Who said "Were he ordained to run
"His long career of life again,

"He would do all that he had done."—
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells
In sober birth-days, speaks to me,
Far otherwise—of time it tells,
Lavished unwisely, carelessly—
Of counsel mocked-of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines,-
Of nursing many a wrong desire,-
Of wondering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire,

That crossed my pathway, for his star!
All this it tells, and, could I trace

Th' imperfect picture o'er again,

With power to add, retouch, efface,

The light and shades, the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay!

How

quickly all should melt away All, but that freedom of the mind,

Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving ark, Where love's true light at last I've found Cheering within when all grows dark, And comfortless, and stormy round!

MOORE.

REESE LIBRARY`

OF THE

(UNIVERSITY

CALIFOR

SONG.

Oft in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Fond memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

The smiles, the tears of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken,

The eyes that shone, now dimmed aud gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!

When I remember all
The friends so linked together,
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather,

I feel like one, who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, And all but he departed!

Thus in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Fond memory brings the light

Of other days around me.