Oh! what is Genius but a part Of Him, whose glory flings A bliss o’er each devoted heart, And o’er all earth-born things?— An essence of the mind of God, A pure ethereal light, That wingeth at its master’s nod, As angels to their flight. Farewell! thou art not yet forgot, Nor wilt thou ever be, While earth has one sweet Eden spot, Or stars laugh on the sea— Thou hast thy wish, and on the bed Where thou dost gently rest, The summer daisy waves its head, And blossoms o’er thy breast. * * * * * LINES AT PARTING. BY T. TREVOR. Farewell, farewell!—the brightest day must close: And the sweet vision of my recent hours Will fade too soon. Ah! will it not return? The clouds that evening gathered o’er our heads Stayed not till morn; but leave the sun more bright. The early mist, that veiled yon green hill-side, Has risen, and floated on the air awhile, Then slowly vanished, and you see again The glades, where sings the bird and bounds the deer. And may not absence hide thee, for a time, Then give thee fairer back? Oh! I will trust. And as beyond the clouds I know the sun Shines, though I see him not, my spirit’s eye Thy form shall trace, though absent, and thy soul, E’en when thou know’st it not, shall soft respond To some kind thought of mine. Thus, though forever Thy absence last, we shall not wholly part. But now, awhile, farewell! and may each boon, By Heav’n most prized, fall richly to thy lot. Be every thought replete with quiet joy, And every purpose overruled for good. * * * * * THE THREE CALLS. BY H. L. JONES. The sofas and ottomans were covered with crimson velvet; the morning sun streamed through folds of rich stuff, that tempered and warmed its light; the tread was unheard on the thick carpet, and the glowing coal sent a cheerful smile over the ample apartments.