And though dawn-light yields to noon-light, And though darkness turns to day, They but leave me to remembrances, That will not pass away. * * * * * STANZAS. BY NINON. When he who has trod o’er a desert of sand, In the sun’s scorching fervor all fiercely that glows, Sees far in the distance some fair fertile land, As if ’twere an island of Eden that rose. Where fountains all sparkling invite him to stay, And quaff the bright waters that plenteously spring; Oh, how he exalts in the breeze’s wild play, That bears the pure spirit of health on its wings. The blast of the desert unheeded sweeps by, No terrors it bears to yon palm-sheltered isle; And though fiercely the sun may look down from on high, In its cool shady bowers he seems but to smile. The balm-breathing dews on his canopy fall, All sparkling as beauty’s celestial tear; The bright dreams of Fancy his spirit enthrall, And Araby’s visions are realized here. ’Tis morn, and the slumbers that wrapt him are fled, His path o’er the desert once more he must find; But when will a canopy o’er him be spread, Like the desert-girt Eden he’s leaving behind. Oh, thus in this wide waste of life do we grieve, When the spirits we meet with congenial and kind, Urged on by the stern hand of destiny, leave The hearts that had loved them in sorrow behind. The wound may be healed and the pain be allayed, And spirits as fair may our pathway illume; But ne’er in such splendor by Fancy arrayed, As they whom we met in affection’s first bloom. Oh, change not too lightly the home of the heart, Nor rashly the bonds of affection untwine, Lest the spirit of Love from thy bosom depart, And come not again to so worthless a shrine. * * * * * EDITOR’S TABLE.