There is a form, I see it now, More radiant far than all, The full, dark eye, the snowy brow That held my heart in thrall. But, O, that voice, so low and sweet! I ne’er shall hear it more; The fond, warm heart hath ceased to beat— My dream of bliss is o’er. And still another picture there— A being young and bright; The captive sunbeams in her hair, A form of love and light; The deep blue tints that stain the sky, When summer bids it gleam, Are mirrored in her laughing eye, Like violets in the stream. I deemed those forms forever fled From time’s bleak desert shore, And that the light upon me shed, Could visit me no more. But late I saw a vision bright, And fair as those of old, That taught to me this lesson trite— The heart can ne’er grow cold! O, charming, charming young Christine Long years may pass away, But cannot seize the love I ween, Of young life’s joyous day! O, would some gem like thee were mine Upon my breast to wear, Through Sorrow’s dreary hour to shine, And light the night of Care; My glance upon mankind should fall Contented, happy, free, And I should richer feel than all, My only treasure _thee_! But, O, my lot is wild and drear, And sad the night-winds moan; Upon life’s tree the leaves are sere, And I am all alone. * * * * * THE ENNUYEE. BY MRS. S. A. LEWIS. It hath been said, “for all who die, There is a tear; Some pining, bleeding heart to sigh, O’er every bier;” But in that hour of pain and dread, Who will draw near, Around my humble couch, and shed One farewell tear? Who watch life’s last dim parting ray, In deep despair, And soothe my spirit on its way, With holy prayer? What mourner round my bier will come, In weeds of wo, And follow me to my long home, Solemn and slow?