"Sally, Sally! in the valley, you have promised many a time,
On the summer Sunday morning, as we heard the matin chime,
Listening to those sweet bells ringing, calling grateful hearts to pray,
I have whispered, ch! how sweetly, they'll proclaim our wedding day."

"Harry, Harry! I'll not marry, till I find your eyes don't stray : At Kate Riley you so slily stole a wink the other day." "But Kate Riley, she's my cousin."—" Harry, I have cousins too, If you will have close relations, I have cousins close as you,"

66

'Sally, Sally! do not rally, do not mock my tender woe;

Play me not thus shilly shally, Sally do not tease me so;

Whilst you're smiling, hearts beguiling, doing all a woman can,
Think, though you're almost an angel, I am but a mortal man."

ADIEU, ADIEU! OUR DREAM OF LOVE.

THOMAS K. HERVEY. From the "Poetical Sketch Book," 1829.

ADIEU, adieu!-our dream of love
Was far too sweet to linger long,
Such hopes may bloom in bowers above,
But here they mock the fond and young.

We met in hope,—we part in tears!
Yet, oh! 'tis sadly sweet to know
That life, in all its future years,

Can reach us with no heavier blow!

Our souls have drunk, in early youth,
The bitter dregs of earthly ill,
Our bosoms, blighted in their truth,
Have learned to suffer, and be still!

The hour is come,-the spell is past!
Far, far from thee, my only love!
Youth's earliest hope, and manhood's last!
My darkened spirit turns to rove.

Adieu, adieu!-oh, dull and dread,

Sinks on the ear that parting knell!
Hope, and the dreams of hope, lie dead,—
To them and thee-farewell, farewell!

I THINK ON THEE IN THE NIGHT

THOMAS K. HERVEY.

I THINK on thee in the night,

When all beside is still,

And the moon comes out, with her pale, sad light, To sit on the lonely hill!

When the stars are all like dreams,

And the breezes all like sighs,

And there comes a voice from the far-off streams,

Like thy spirit's low replies!

I think on thee by day,

'Mid the cold and busy crowd,

When the laughter of the young and gay

Is far too glad and loud!

I hear thy soft, sad tone,

And thy young, sweet smile I see,—

My heart,-my heart were all alone,

But for its dreams of thee!

ELLEN EVELINA.

CHARLES MACKAY.

THOU hast smiles for all the world,
Ellen Evelina;
Beautiful those smiles may be,

Warm as sunshine and as free;
But I'd rather, I confess,

Love a maid, who, smiling less,
Gave her sweetest smiles to me;-
Ellen Evelina.

Thou can'st win the world's applause,
Ellen Evelina;

Thou'rt a wit and bel esprit,
Living upon flattery;

But I'd rather all my days

Love a woman, seeking praise,
Not from others, but from me,
Ellen Evelina.

When thou singest, hearts beat low,
Ellen Evelina;

Admiration great and free,
Lingers on thy melody:
But no song, however fair,
In my fancy can compare,

With a whispered "I love thee,"
Ellen Evelina.

Oft I think, against my will,
Ellen Evelina,

Notwithstanding all I see
Bright and beautiful in thee,
That thou lovest, oh my belle!
Thy enchanting self too well,
To give love enough to me,
Ellen Evelina.

Thou hast chosen,-so have I,-
Ellen Evelina;

In thy track I'll cease to run,

I will end as I begun :

She whom I would choose for life,

For my love, my friend, my wife,
Must have heart-and thou hast none,
Ellen Evelina.

BROKEN SILENCE.

By J. WESTLAND MARSTON, author of the "Patrician's Daughter.", O BREAK not her silence !-she listens to voices Whose tones are a feeling, whose echoes a thrill; And more than in aught that is real she rejoices In dreams which presage what they ne'er can fulfil,— The dreams, the first fond dreams of love!

O, break not her silence!-her heart is replying

To chords that are swept by a breeze from the past; No hymn in the present can match with that sighing O'er hopes which, though vanished, were dear to the last,The hopes, the first bright hopes of youth!

Thou can'st not break her silence!-no word that is spoken Can now wound her ear, no regret dim her eyes; Thou can'st not break her silence; yet, hark! it is broken,"Come hither, come hither,"-a voice from the skies! "Come hither,"-a voice from the skies!

BLUE IS THE SKY.

G. MEREDITH.

BLUE is the sky, blue is thine eye,
Which shall I call Heaven?
Star is there, and soul is here,
Tell me which is Heaven?
I cannot know unless thou say,
So kin are both in orb and ray,

So full of heavenly feature;
The fall of dews, the flush of hues,
The tenderness of softened views,
Lovely alike by night or day,

And both of heavenly nature.

Blue is the sky, blue is thine eye,
Both would image Heaven!
Light is there, and love is here,
Each the child of Heaven!
Oh! might it be, and may it be,

That I who worship Heaven in thee,

May so fulfil thy mission,

That light and love from Heaven above,

And star and soul, my bridal dove,

May blend and open Heaven to me,

Thro' thy celestial vision!

LOVE IN HATE.

CHARLES MACKAY. From "Legends of the Isles and other poems," 1845.
ONCE I thought I could adore him,

Rich or poor, beloved the same;
Now I hate him, and abhor him-
Now I loathe his very name—
Spurn'd at, when I sued for pity-

Robb'd of peace and virgin fame.
If my hatred could consume him,
Soul and body, heart and brain,
If my will had power to doom him
To eternity of pain;

I would strike-and die, confessing
That I had not lived in vain.

Oh, if in my bosom lying,

I could work him deadly scathe!
Oh, if I could clasp him, dying,
And receive his parting breath-
In one burst of burning passion
I would kiss him into death!

I would cover with embraces

Lips, that once his love confessed,

And that falsest of false faces,

Mad, enraptured, unrepressed;

Then in agony of pity

I would die upon his breast.

LOVE NOT.

HON. MRS. NORTON.

LOVE not, love not, ye hapless sons of clay;
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flow'rs—
Things that are made to fade and fall away,
When they have blossom'd but a few short hours.
Love not, love not.

Love not, love not: the thing you love may die-
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,
Beam on its grave as once upon its birth.

Love not, love not.

E