"Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and pleasure, Joys beyond thy fancy's measure;

Here with my sword and horse I stand,

To bear thee away to my distant land.

Take, thou fairest, this full-blown rose,

A token of love that as ripely blows.'

With his glove of steel he plucked the token, But it fell from his gauntlet, crushed and broken.

The maiden exclaimed, "Thou seest, Sir Knight,
Thy fingers of iron can only smite;

And, like the rose thou hast torn and scattered,
I in thy grasp should be wrecked and shattered."

She trembled and blushed, and her glances fell, But she turned from the knight, and said, " Farewell;"

"Not so," he cried, "will I lose my prize;
I heed not thy words, but I read thine eyes."

He lifted her up in his grasp of steel,

And he mounted, and spurred with furious heel; But her cry drew forth her hoary sire,

Who snatched his bow from above the fire.

Swift from the valley the warrior fled,
Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped;
And the weight that pressed on the fleet-foot horse,
Was the living man, and the woman's corse.

That morning, the rose was bright of hue;
That morning, the maiden was fair to view;
But the evening sun its beauty shed

On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead.

STERLING.

THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.

I LOVE it, I love it! and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize,

I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with

sighs;

"Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart;

Not a tie will break, not a link will start.

Would ye learn the spell? a mother sat there,
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.

In childhood's hour, I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;

And gentle words that mother would give,
To fit me to die, and teach me to live;
She told me shame would never betide,
With truth for my creed, and God for my guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,
As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day,
When her eyes grew dim, and her locks were
grey;

And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible, to bless her child.
Years rolled on, but the last one sped,-
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled;
I learned how much a heart can bear,
When I saw her die in that old arm-chair.

'Tis past! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now With quivering breath and throbbing brow; 'Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she died; And memory flows with lava tide.

Say it is folly, and deem me weak,

While the scalding drops start down my cheek; But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear

My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.

ELIZA COOK.

THE BOY AND HIS ANGEL.

O MOTHER, I've been with an angel to-day!
I was out alone in the forest at play,

Chasing after the butterflies, watching the bees,
And hearing the wood-pecker tapping the trees;
So I played, and I played, till so weary I grew,
I sate down to rest in the shade of a yew,
While the birds sang so sweetly high up on its top,
I held my breath, mother, for fear they would stop.
Thus a long while I sate, looking up to the sky,
And watching the clouds that went hurrying by,
When I heard a voice calling just over my head,
That sounded as if, 'Come, O brother!' it said ;
And there, right over the top of the tree,
O mother! an angel was beckoning to me!

And brother!' once more, 'come, O brother!' he cried,

And flew on light pinions close down by my side; And, mother, O never was being so bright,

As the one which then beamed on my wondering sight!

His face was as fair as the delicate shell,

His hair down his shoulders in fair ringlets fell,

His eyes resting on me, so melting with love,
Were as soft and as mild as the eyes of a dove!
And somehow, dear mother, I felt not afraid,
As his hand on my brow he caressingly laid,

And whispered so softly and gently to me,

Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee.'

And then on my forehead he tenderly pressed Such kisses;-O mother! they thrilled through my breast;

At last on my head a deep blessing he poured, Then plumed his bright pinions, and upward he

soared.

And up, up he went, through the blue sky, so far,
He seemed to float there like a glittering star;

Yet still my eyes followed his radiant flight,
Till, lost in the azure, he passed from my sight.
Then, O how I feared, as I caught the last gleam
Of his vanishing form, it was only a dream!
When soft voices whispered once more from the
tree,

'Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee!'

O how his young footsteps she watched, day

by day,

As his delicate form wasted slowly away;