Noon on the waters! O rustling breeze, Sweet stealer 'mid old forest trees, Wilt thou not thy sweet whisper keep Nigh him who journeys the shadeless deep? The wanderer dreams of the shadowy dell, And the green-turfed, fairy-haunted well, While the shafts of the noon-king's merciless might Mingle day with sorrow, and death with light. Night on the waters! murmuring hoarse, The vexed deep threatens the bold bark's course, The thunder-growl and the tempest moan Sound like spirits that watch for the dying groan. The storm-fiend sweeps o'er the starless waste, And the unchained blasts to the gathering haste; Man alone, unshaken, his course retains, While the elements combat and chaos reigns. WANTED A young Lady of twenty-three years of age, as a teacher in a Ladies' School. Satisfactory references required.--"TIMES" _Advertisement_. Why should I be _twenty-three_? What are the virtues they can see Just about to bloom in me In the magical year of _twenty-three_? Does a maiden, fair and free, Get prudent just at _twenty-three_? Whatever can the reason be That they want a girl just _twenty-three_? Dignified matron, whoever you be, Would not twenty-two do for thee? Would twenty-one be shown to the door, And twenty told to come no more? Nineteen, perhaps, would hardly be fit, Eighteen strikes one as rather a chit. Why must you search o'er land and sea For the golden age of _twenty-three_? Still the years glide on--for you and for me, We're nearer, or farther from, _twenty-three_. Oft, as I sit over my five o'clock tea, I think, did she get her? age _twenty-three_! When friends are cold and unkind to me, I think there's a refuge when _twenty-three_. On my birthday I'll write, unknown friend, to thee, Exclaiming, "Here, take me, I'm _twenty-three_!" PERDITA She is beautiful yet, with her wondrous hair And eyes that are stormy with fitful light, The delicate hues of brow and cheek Are unmarred all, rose-clear and bright; That matchless frame yet holds at bay The crouching bloodhounds, Remorse, Decay. There is no fear in her great dark eyes-- No hope, no love, no care, Stately and proud she looks around With a fierce, defiant stare; Wild words deform her reckless speech, Her laugh has a sadness tears never reach. Whom should she fear on earth? Can fate One direr torment lend To her few little years of glitter and gloom With the sad old story to end, When the spectres of Loneliness, Want, and Pain Shall arise one night with Death in their train?