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Poor Rosalie, with look forlorn,
Is seen descending slow.

But when the gray morn tints the sky,
And lights that lofty peak,-
With a strange lustre in her eye,
A fever in her cheek,-

Again she goes, untired, to sit,

And watch, the live-long day;

Nor, till the star of eve is lit,
E'er turns her steps away.

To a young Invalid, condemned, by accidental Lameness, to perpetual Confinement.-HENRY PICKERING.

"And must he make

That heart a grave, and in it bury deep
Its young and beautiful feelings?"

THINE is the spring of life, dear boy,
And thine should be its flowers;
Thine, too, should be the voice of joy,
To hasten on the hours:

And thou, with cheek of rosiest hue,
With winged feet, shouldst still
Thy sometime frolic course pursue
O'er lawn and breezy hill.

Not so! What means this foolish heart,

And verse as idly vain ?

Each hath his own allotted part

Of pleasure and of pain:

And while thou canst the hours beguile,
(Thus patiently reclined,)

I would not quench that languid smile,
Or see thee less resigned.

Some are condemned to roam the earth,
A various fate to share,

Scarce destined, from their very birth,
To know a parent's care.

To thee, sweet one, repose was given,
Yet not without alloy;

That thou might'st early think of heaven,
The promised seat of joy ;-

That thou might'st know what love supreme
Pervades a mother's breast-

Flame quenchless as the heavenly beam,
The purest and the best.-

William, that love which shadows thee,
Is eminently mine:

O that my riper life could be

Deserving it as thine!

The Sage of Caucasus.-HILLHOUSE.

Hadad. NONE knows his lineage, age, or name: his locks Are like the snows of Caucasus; his eyes

Beam with the wisdom of collected ages.

In green, unbroken years, he sees, 'tis said,

The generations pass, like autumn fruits,

Garnered, consumed, and springing fresh to life,

Again to perish, while he views the sun,

The seasons roll, in rapt serenity,

And high communion with celestial powers.

Some say 'tis Shem, our father; some say Enoch,
And some Melchisedek.

Tamar. I've heard a tale

Like this, but ne'er believed it.

Had. I have proved it.—

Through perils dire, dangers most imminent,

Seven days and nights midst rocks and wildernesses,

And boreal snows, and never-thawing ice,

Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing,

Save the far-soaring vulture, comes, I dared

My desperate way, resolved to know, or perish.
Tam. Rash, rash advent'rer!

Had. On the highest peak

Of stormy Caucasus, there blooms a spot,

On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers
And verdure never die; and there he dwells.

Such awful majesty: his reverend locks
Hung like a silver mantle to his feet;

His raiment glistered saintly white; his brow
Rose like the gate of Paradise; his mouth
Was musical as its bright guardians' songs.

The Resolution of Ruth.-CHRISTIAN EXAMINER.

FAREWELL? O no! it may not be;
My firm resolve is heard on high:

I will not breathe farewell to thee,
Save only in my dying sigh.

I know not that I now could bear
For ever from thy side to part,
And live without a friend to share
The treasured sadness of my heart.

I did not love in former years,

To leave thee solitary: now,

When sorrow dims thine eyes with tears,
And shades the beauty of thy brow,
I'll share the trial and the pain;

And strong the furnace fires must be,
To melt away the willing chain,
That binds a daughter's heart to thee.

I will not boast a martyr's might
To leave my home without a sigh-
The dwelling of my past delight,
The shelter where I hoped to die.
In such a duty, such an hour,

The weak are strong, the timid brave,
For Love puts on an angel's power,

And faith grows mightier than the grave.

It was not so, ere he we loved,

And vainly strove with Heaven to save,
Heard the low call of Death, and moved
With holy calmness to the grave,
Just at that brightest hour of youth
When life spread out before us lay,
And charmed us with its tones of truth,
And colors radiant as the day.

When morning's tears of joy were shed,
Or nature's evening incense rose,
We thought upon the grave with dread,
And shuddered at its dark repose.
But all is altered now: of death

The morning echoes sweetly speak,
And, like my loved one's dying breath,
The evening breezes fan my cheek.

For rays of heaven, serenely bright,
Have gilt the caverns of the tomb;
And I can ponder, with delight,

On all its gathering thoughts of gloom.
Then, mother, let us haste away

To that blessed land to Israel given,
Where Faith, unsaddened by decay,
Dwells nearest to its native heaven.

We'll stand within the temple's bound,
In courts by kings and prophets trod;
We'll bless with tears the sacred ground,
And there be earnest with our God,
Where peace and praise for ever reign,
And glorious anthems duly flow,
Till seraphs lean to catch the strain
Of heaven's devotions here below.

But where thou goest I will go;
With thine my earthly lot is cast;
In pain and pleasure, joy and wo,
Will I attend thee to the last.
That hour shall find me by thy side;

And where thy grave is, mine shall be;

Death can but for a time divide

My firm and faithful heart from thee.

Live for Eternity.-CARLOS WILCOX.

A BRIGHT or dark eternity in view,
With all its fixed, unutterable things,
What madness in the living to pursue,
As their chief portion, with the speed of wings,

The joys that death-beds always turn to stings!
Infatuated man, on earth's smooth waste

To dance along the path that always brings
Quick to an end, from which with tenfold haste
Back would he gladly fly till all should be retraced!

Our life is like the hurrying on the eve Before we start, on some long journey bound, When fit preparing to the last we leave, Then run to every room the dwelling round, And sigh that nothing needed can be found; Yet go we must, and soon as day shall break; We snatch an hour's repose, when loud the sound For our departure calls; we rise and take A quick and sad farewell, and go ere well awake.

Reared in the sunshine, blasted by the storms,
Of changing time, scarce asking why or whence,
Men come and go like vegetable forms,
Though heaven appoints for them a work immense,
Demanding constant thought and zeal intense,
Awaked by hopes and fears that leave no room
For rest to mortals in the dread suspense,
While yet they know not if beyond the tomb
A long, long life of bliss or wo shall be their doom.

What matter whether pain or pleasures fill
The swelling heart one little moment here?
From both alike how vain is every thrill,
While an untried eternity is near!
'Think not of rest, fond man, in life's career;
The joys and grief that meet thee, dash aside
Like bubbles, and thy bark right onward steer
Through calm and tempest, till it cross the tide,
Shoot into port in triumph, or serenely glide.

Dedication Hymn.-PIERPONT.

WITH trump, and pipe, and viol chords,
And song, the full assembly brings

Its tribute to the Lord of lords,

Its homage to the King of kings.