Or see, in Fancy's dream, thy Thracian trees, Their proud heads bent submissive to the sound, Swayed by a tuneful and enchanted breeze, March to slow music o'er th' astonished ground-- Grove after grove descending from the hills, While round thee weave their dance the glad, harmonious rills. Think not of me! Ha! by thy mighty sire, My lord, my king! recall the dread behest! Turn not--ah! turn not back those eyes of fire! Oh! lost, forever lost! undone! unblest! I faint, I die!--the serpent's fang once more Is here!--nay, grieve not thus! Life but _not Love_ is o'er! THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND. BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N. When the day-king is descending On the blue hill's breast to lie, And some spirit-artist blending On the flushed and bending sky All the rainbow's hues, I listen To the breeze, while in my eye Tears of bitter anguish glisten, As I think of days gone by. Change, relentless change is lighting On the brow of young and fair, And with iron hand is writing Tales of grief and sorrow there. On life's journey friends have faltered, And beside its pathway lie, But that breeze, with voice unaltered, Sings as in the days gone by. Sings old songs to soothe the anguish Of a heart whose hopes are flown; Cheering one condemned to languish In this weary world alone; Tells old tales of loved ones o'er me, Dearest ones, remembered well, That have passed away before me, In a brighter land to dwell. MAJOR-GENERAL WORTH. BY FAYETTE ROBINSON, AUTHOR OF "THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES," ETC. All persons naturally exhibit a great desire to become acquainted with the events of the lives of those individuals who have made themselves or their country illustrious. It is very pleasant to inquire into the nature of the studies which matured their minds, to examine the incidents of their early career, and follow them through the obscurer portions of their lives for the purpose of ascertaining if the man corresponds with the idea we have formed of him.