LINES TO A LADY BEFORE HER DEPARTURE FOR INDIA. Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly, And think of me! Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice,— A wine more praised than it deserves to be! Go pass the Cape, just capable of ver-juice, And think of me! Go where the tiger in the darkness prowleth, And think of me! Go where the serpent dangerously coileth, Go where with human notes the parrot dealeth And think of me! Go to the land of muslin and nankeening, And think of me! Go to the land of jungles and of vast hills, And think of me! Go where a cook must always be a currier, And think of me! Go where the maiden on a marriage plan goes, Where woman goes for mart, the same as mangoes, And think of me! Go where the sun is very hot and fervent, Go to the land of pagod and rupee, Where every black will be your slave and servant, And think of me! SONG. By CATHERINE WARFIELD. I NEVER knew how dear thou wert Sent back its passionate thoughts to thee. When the gales rose, and, tempest-tossed, Made strong my heart amid its dread. Yes, on the dark and troubled sea, I strove my spirit's depths to know, And found its deep, deep love for thee, Fathomless as the gulfs below. The waters bore me on my way— Yet, oh more swift than rushing streams, To thee flew back, from day to day, My clinging love-my burning dreams. THE FIRST SMILE. From Lyra Innocentium. TEARS from the birth the doom must be It comes in slumber, gently steals Closed eyelids, limbs supine, and breath 'Tis life, but all of earth shut out. 'Tis perfect peace; yet all the while Oh! dim to this the flashing ray, 'Tis childish sport, or frolic mirth, Or if in pensive wise it creep, With gradual light and sober grace, But did the smile disclose a dream Or told some angel from above, Or, thought of trial for her breast, Thou shalt be ours, dear child, again? "Thou shalt be ours, and heaven be thine, "And her that holds thee now so warm, A clearer faith enlarge her heart." Blest smile!-so let me live my day That smile to cheer the mourners round Of heart intent on opening heaven. MY MOTHER DEAR. By SAMUEL Lover. THERE was a place in childhood that I remember well, tell, And gentle words and fond embrace were given with joy to me, When I was in that happy place-upon my Mother's knee. When fairy tales were ended, "Good night," she softly said, And kiss'd and laid me down to sleep within my tiny bed: And holy words she taught me there—methinks I yet can see Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my Mother's knee. In the sickness of my childhood; the perils of my prime ; It was a fervent prayer to Heaven that bent my Mother's knee. MY MOTHER. By N. P. WILLIS. I KNOW not if my mother's eyes Would find me changed in slighter things: And tasted of some bitter springs : From youth's full flower have dropp'd away- Takes closer what was dear of yore, And yearns to those who loved it first The sunshine and the dew by which its bud was nursed. Dear mother! dost thou love me yet? Am I remember'd in my home? Dear mother! dost thou love thy long-lost wanderer yet? |