DRINK OF THIS CUP.

DRINK of this cup; you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
Would you forget the dark world we are in,

Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it;

But would you rise above earth, till akin

To Immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it; Send round the cup-for oh, there's a spell in

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

Never was philter form'd with such power

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing;
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour,

A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing,
There having, by Nature's enchantment, been fill'd
With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather,
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd

To enliven such hearts as are here brought together.
Then drink of the cup-you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

And though, perhaps--but breathe it to no one—
Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful,
This philter in secret was first taught to flow on,
Yet 'tis n't less potent for being unlawful.
And, ev'n though it taste of the smoke of that flame,
Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden-

Fill up there's a fire in some hearts I could name,

Which may work too its charm, though as lawless and hidden.

So drink of the cup-for oh there's a spell in
It's every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

3

:

ECHO.

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,

When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light.

Yet Love hath echoes truer far,
And far more sweet,

Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,
The songs repeat.

"Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,
And only then,-

The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear,
Is by that one, that only dear,
Breath'd back again!

To Ladies' eyes around, boy,

We can't refuse, we can't refuse,

Though bright eyes so abound, boy,

'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose:

For thick as stars that lighten

Yon airy bow'rs, yon airy bow'rs,

The countless eyes that brighten

This earth of ours, this earth of ours.

But fill the cup-where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall,

We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

Some looks there are so holy,

They seem but giv'n, they seem but giv'n,
As shining beacons, solely,

To light to heav'n, to light to heav'n.
While some-oh! ne'er believe them-
With tempting ray, with tempting ray,
Would lead us (God forgive them!)

The other way, the other way.
But fill the cup-where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall,
We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

In some, as in a mirror,

Love seems portray'd, Love seems portray'd, But shun the flatt'ring error,

'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade.

Himself has fix'd his dwelling

In eyes we know, in eyes we know,

And lips-but this is telling—

So here they go! so here they go!

Fill up, fill up-where'er, boy,

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall,

We're sure to find Love there, boy,

So drink them all! so drink them all!

THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE

IN yonder valley there dwelt, alone,

A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,

Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night,

He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite.

As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er

The golden sands of that island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight—
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!

Beside a fountain, one sunny day,

As bending over the stream he lay,

There peep'd down o'er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.

He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird,

That spirit fled-and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight

Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.

One night, still haunted by that bright look,

The boy, bewilder'd, his pencil took,

And, guided only by memory's light,

Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.

"Oh thou, who lovest the shadow,” cried

A voice, low whisp'ring by his side,

"Now turn and see,"-here the youth's delight Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.

"Of all the spirits of land and sea,"

Then rapt he murmur'd, "there's none like thee, "And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light

"In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!"

OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS.

Он, could we do with this world of ours
As thou dost with thy garden bowers,
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers,

What a heaven on earth we'd make it!
So bright a dwelling should be our own,
So warranted free from sigh or frown,
That angels soon would be coming down,
By the week or month to take it.