“Pleasant words!” The river’s wave That ripples every minute On the shore we love so well, Hath not such music in it; Nor are the songs of breeze or birds, Half so sweet as “pleasant words!” * * * * * DIRGE. ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. BY RICHARD PENN SMITH. Mournfully toll the bell: Gently bear earth to earth; Solemnly chant the knell; Death claims a mortal birth. Virgins, strew early flowers, Plucked from the snow in spring; Emblems of her sad hours— Smiling while withering. She was a gentle one: Pure as a seraph’s tear; Too soon her task was done; Born but to disappear! Low chant her requiem; Close o’er her breast the sod; Angels, teach her your hymn, While winging her way to God. * * * * * PASSING AWAY. BY ANNIE GREY. ’Tis written on the early flower, By a single faded leaf; ’Tis written with terrific power Upon the burning cheek. ’Tis written with an iron pen Upon that old man’s brow; And mark its tyrant impress when It touched thy darling now. ’Tis written on the fleeting smile And on the falling tear; ’Tis seen upon that old quaint dial, And in the grave-yard near. ’Tis written in thy mother’s touch, And in thy father’s care; These may not—though they love thee much— They may not linger here. Here, too, we see on friendship’s bond Its shadowy impress laid; The love we deemed so true, so fond, Its own dark grave hath made. Yet surely there is one thing here Which may not pass away— ’Tis early love, so fond, so dear, It cannot yield its sway? Oh! mark the eye averted now, And list to that scornful word, And see the cherished broken vow— E’en this hath the mandate heard. ’Tis written, then, on all things here, On smiles, on tears, on joy, on wo, On that we prize, on that we fear,— All teach alike that we must go. * * * * * THE UNDIVIDED HEART. AFTER THE MANNER OF AN EARLY ENGLISH POET. BY MYRRHA. When the rich merchant sendeth out his store, To multiply in foreign lands and seas, He scattereth it to every friendly shore, And spreads his sails to every favoring breeze. Then, if one bark, more luckless than the rest, Should chance make shipwreck on some fatal coast, Seeing he is of many more possest, He comforts him, although that one be lost.