Deep the wo that fast is sending From my cheek its healthful bloom; Sad my thoughts, as willows bending O'er the borders of the tomb. Without Clifford not a blessing In the world is worth possessing. Wealth!--a straw within the balance, Opposed to love 'twill kick the beam: Kindred--friendship--beauty--talents?-- All to love as nothing seem; Weigh love against all else together, As solid gold against a feather. Hope is flown--away disguises-- Nought but death relief can give-- For the love he little prizes Cannot cease and Julia live! Soon my thread of life will sever-- Clifford, fare thee well--for ever! THOUGHTS AT THE GRAVE OF A DEPARTED FRIEND. BY JOHN INMAN. Loved, lost one, fare thee well--too harsh the doom That called thee thus in opening life away; Tears fall for thee; and at thy early tomb I come at each return of this blest day, When evening hovers near, with solemn gloom, The pious debt of sorrowing thought to pay, For thee, blest spirit, whose loved form alone Here mouldering sleeps, beneath this simple stone. But memory claims thee still; and slumber brings Thy form before me as in life it came; Affection conquers death, and fondly clings Unto the past, and thee, and thy loved name; And hours glide swiftly by on noiseless wings, While sad discourses of thy loss I frame, With her the friend of thy most tranquil years, Who mourns for thee with grief too deep for tears. _Sunday Evening._ SONG. BY THEODORE S. FAY. A careless, simple bird, one day Flutt'ring in Flora's bowers, Fell in a cruel trap, which lay All hid among the flowers, Forsooth, the pretty, harmless flowers. The spring was closed; poor, silly soul, He knew not what to do, Till, squeezing through a tiny hole, At length away he flew, Unhurt--at length away he flew. And now from every fond regret And idle anguish free, He, singing, says, "You need not set Another trap for me, False girl! another trap for me." ANACREONTIC. BY C. F. HOFFMAN. Blame not the Bowl--the fruitful Bowl! Whence wit, and mirth, and music spring, And amber drops elysian roll, To bathe young Love's delighted wing. What like the grape Osiris gave Makes rigid age so lithe of limb? Illumines Memory's tearful wave, And teaches drowning Hope to swim? Did Ocean from his radiant arms To earth another Venus give, He ne'er could match the mellow charms That in the breathing beaker live.