I burn to lave My eager lip in the purple wave! Freedom bringeth the wine so brave! The world is cold! Sorrow and Pain have gloomy hold, Chilling the bosom warm and bold! Doubts and fears Veil the shine of my morning years! My life’s lone rainbow springs from tears! But Eden-gleams Visit my soul in immortal dreams, When the wave of the goblet burns and beams! Not from the Rhine— Not from fields of Burgundian vine, Bring me the bright Olympian wine! Not with a ray, Born where the winds of Shiraz play— Or the fiery blood of the ripe Tokay! Not where the glee Of Falernian vintage echoes free— Or the gardens of Scio gem the sea! But wine! Bring wine! Flushing high with its growth divine, In the crystal depth of my soul to shine! Whose glow was caught From the warmth which Fancy’s summer brought To the vintage-fields in the Land of Thought! Rich and free To my thirsting soul will the goblet be, Poured by the Hebe, Poesy! * * * * * A VALENTINE. BY R. H. BACON. Alas! sweet ——, how hard a task is mine Thy behest to fulfill. The poet’s heart Freezes with winter; and his lyric art, Torpid and dull, no coronals can twine, Even in honor of Saint Valentine! Yet must the saint be honored; so I lay A frozen dove upon his frozen shrine, And ice-twigs pile for sacrificial pyre, While driving snows obscure the short-lived day, Praying thine eyes for soft consuming fire! The thawing ice fit emblem then will be Of tears, that sickness laid its hand on thee: The flashing light, that shows the altar burning, Shall be my gladness at thy health’s returning; Health, Joy and Spring in one sweet band returning! _Cambridge, St. Valentine’s Day, 1847._ * * * * * ARTHUR HARRINGTON. OR A YOUTH OF PROMISE. BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF “AARON’S ROD,” “PRIZE STORIES,” ETC. CHAPTER I. I yearn for the future, vague and vast; And lo! what treasure of glorious things Giant Futurity sheds from his wings. M. Tupper. “Mother, which shall I be—which would you rather have me be—an author or statesman?” said Arthur Harrington, a handsome boy of some twelve years of age, looking up from his Latin exercise to his mother, who sat reading at the same table where her son was studying. The mother laid down her book, and smiling as she looked in the glowing face of her boy, answered,