BY JARONETTE. ON! give me some strong human will, To lull this dream of woe; It binds me with its iron chain, And will not let me go. Oh! give me strength to curb this strife, And make my spirit know My early days of happy life, Of days long, long ago. But now there's darkness on my path, A shadow on my heart; I each fond feeling seek to hide, Trembling in ev'ry part! They think that I'm forgetting thee; But ah! they do not see The coursing tears, when I'm alone, Flowing so fast and free! I list my bird's sweet matin song, Its wild and gladsome chants; But no, the dead'ning weight is here, And still my spirit pants For long-lost dreamy hours of joy, When thou wert by my side, And care seemed but a thing of name, Not to my life allied. Now, when the smile is on my lip, It turns that smile to tears, Stemming the life-blood of my heart With weary weight of years. It makes the strong proud limbs refuse To roam this gladsome earth, And sends me reeling, mad, within, From out the sounds of mirth. I pet each blossom from my shrubs, And call them by thy name; I ask them if their spirits tell That I am still the same. A pure white rose that bloomed this morn I went this eve to take; "The spirit of the flow'r" had fled, The _cold_ its _heart_ did break! They tell me that thou carest not For woman's love or fame; That thou speak'st _lightly_ of them all That bear the gentle name. But oh! I heed them not the while, _They_ have not read thy heart; I know you have not chang'd so much Since we were forced to part. And though they bid me see thee not, My spirit meets thee oft In dream-land, where the flow'rs bloom bright, The air so calm and soft. The angels then are by my side, They kiss me with thy lips, And clasp hope's rainbow round my heart, In that dream-hour of bliss. And sometimes in thy weary hours Recall the past, and weave The dream of hallowed love and hope I'll ever for thee breathe. Then wander forth amid the throng, And seek some gentle one, One that will honor thy dear name, And take her _to thy home_. * * * * * THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. BY CHARLES ALBERT JANVIER. The following lines were suggested by a remark in Washington Irving's "Student of Salamanca," that the old alchymist died just as he was on the point of discovering the philosopher's stone. THE walls were sweating with a festering damp, An icy coldness filled the dreary room, A little solitary flickering lamp With sickly radiance glimmered through the gloom, While on a tattered couch an old man lay, Half-starved with hunger, weary, gaunt, and gray.