In its beloved woods,--and nought remained,-- Save the wild tales which chieftains told,-- To mark the change celestial vengeance wrought. SONG OF THE HERMIT TROUT. BY W. P. HAWES. Down in the deep Dark holes I keep, And there in the noontide I float and sleep, By the hemlock log, And the springing bog, And the arching alders, I lie incog. The angler's fly Comes dancing by, But never a moment it cheats my eye; For the hermit trout Is not such a lout As to be by a wading boy pulled out. King of the brook, No fisher's hook Fills me with dread of the sweaty cook; But here I lie, And laugh as they try; Shall I bite at their bait? No, no; not I! But when the streams, With moonlight beams, Sparkle all silver, and starlight gleams, Then, then look out For the hermit trout; For he springs and dimples the shallows about, While the tired angler dreams. TO MAY. BY JONATHAN LAWRENCE, JUN. Come, gentle May! Come with thy robe of flowers, Come with thy sun and sky, thy clouds and showers; Come, and bring forth unto the eye of day, From their imprisoning and mysterious night, The buds of many hues, the children of thy light. Come, wondrous May! For at the bidding of thy magic wand, Quick from the caverns of the breathing land, In all their green and glorious array They spring, as spring the Persian maids to hail Thy flushing footsteps in Cashmerian vale. Come, vocal May! Come with thy train, that high On some fresh branch pour out their melody; Or carolling thy praise the live-long day, Sit perched in some lone glen, on echo calling, 'Mid murmuring woods and musical waters falling. Come, sunny May! Come with thy laughing beam, What time the lazy mist melts on the stream, Or seeks the mountain-top to meet thy ray, Ere yet the dew-drop on thine own soft flower Hath lost its light, or died beneath his power. Come, holy May! When sunk behind the cold and western hill, His light hath ceased to play on leaf and rill, And twilight's footsteps hasten his decay; Come with thy musings, and my heart shall be Like a pure temple consecrate to thee. Come, beautiful May! Like youth and loveliness, Like her I love; Oh, come in thy full dress, The drapery of dark winter cast away; To the bright eye and the glad heart appear, Queen of the Spring and mistress of the year. Yet, lovely May! Teach her whose eye shall rest upon this rhyme To spurn the gilded mockeries of time, The heartless pomp that beckons to betray, And keep, as thou wilt find, that heart each year, Pure as thy dawn, and as thy sunset clear.