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Show I I POETIC SHRINK I ' ; SXSCsiXi5X:XS'SA THE MEETING OF THE WATEKS. (Moo re. There is not in the wide world a valley s sweet As that vale in whose bosom tho brigii; waters meet ; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart. Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my he;irt. Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the srene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green1: . 'Twas. not her soft m;igie of streamlet I or hill. . Oh, no! it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near. Who made every dear scene of enchantment enchant-ment more dear. I And who felt how the best charma of 1 nature improve, "When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca" how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love bet. Where the storms, that we feel in this cold world should cease And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. I SAW FKOM THE BEACK CMoore. I saw from the beach, when the ij j was shining. A barn o'er the waters, move gloriously on; I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining. The bark was still there, but the waters were cone. And such is the fate of our life's, early promise, j' So" passing the spring-tide of joy we j have known: Each wave, that we. dane'd on at morning ebbs from us. And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shcr3 alone. Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our nisrht Give, me back, give me back, the wild freshness, of morning. He clouds, and her tears' are worth evening's even-ing's best light. Oh. who would not welcome that moment's mo-ment's returning. When, passion first work'd a new Ufa through his1 frame. And' his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in burning. Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite ex-quisite flame. 'TIS THE LAST BOSE OF SUMMEP ' (Moore.) 'Tis the last rose of summef, Lett blooming alone: : AH her lovely companions Are faded and gone: , No flower of her kindred. To reflect back her blushes Or give sigh for sign. I'll nut leave thee, thou lone on To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go. sleep thou with them. I Thus kind'.v I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed. Where thy mates of the sardem I Lie scentless and dead. So soon mv I follow. When friendships decay. And from Ive's shining circl The gems, drop away. . When true hearts lie wither'd ' And ford onw are flown. Oh! men would inhabit This bleak world alone. ' A SONG. (Arrah Luen.) Ah! nvpr more In Ireland I'll hear the birds sing. The blackbird by the nawthorne hedga, Thf. Inrk upon the wing. The thrush from off the holly bush, Or wall where ivies cling. But some one else in Ireland Will hear the birds sing. In dearer notes than those I heard The warblers heavenward fling. . For siens rose up to still the thrush And lark upon the wing. ? j A song of all the happy days I For Ireland in store. . 1 Of quenched fires alight, aglow J I'pon the hearth once more. Of smiling faces, glad, content, 3 Beside each cabin door. Of sunshine on the mountain sida Where erstwhile fell th rain. Ot sheen and glint of yellow corn. Where onee lav barren olain. When Ireland from out the Past " "' Comes forth with Feace again. I So though no more In. Ireland I'll hear the birds singr. Sure some glad heart will thrill to hear , The woods and hedges- ring . - With song of joy, because one day In Ireland it's. Spring. JCHE OCEAN OF THOUGHT. Oh who can sound the ocean of thought. VVith its turbulent, flowing tides. Since each one's thought is only a drop That into its bosom glides. And the little thoughts into rivulets flow. Which speed to the oceans brink. Through a channel that is but the gliding pen. , . , And its currents a cirop or ink. And manv a mile they sparkle away ;: O'er a country of spotless white. , -And when they combine in the oceans ''f roar, . '! They confound the editor quite. -j And just in order to henr himself tninK, i He must stop his ears. 1 know, While he sorts among thoughts that ara grave and gay. That into his maelstrom flow. And i? your thoughts to the surface rise not. Then be not discouraged, ma chere: They are swinging around in the ocean "of thoughts Only wait, they will surely appear. . 2.1. KENA BAKNARD. f I 1 . 1 |