Take, then, sweet maid, this wish sincere, Which in a friendly heart doth glow-- A heart which will thy worth revere Till life's rich streams shall cease to flow: On the fair morning of thy life May love beam forth his brightest ray,-- May friendship's joys, unvexed by strife, Glad the meridian of thy day; And when life's solemn eve shall come, And time to you shall ever cease, May then religion cheer the gloom, And light thy path to endless peace. EPITAPH UPON A DOG. BY C. F. HOFFMAN. An ear that caught my slightest tone In kindness or in anger spoken; An eye that ever watch'd my own In vigils death alone has broken; Its changeless, ceaseless, and unbought Affection to the last revealing; Beaming almost with human thought, And more than human feeling! Can such in endless sleep be chilled, And mortal pride disdain to sorrow, Because the pulse that here was stilled May wake to no immortal morrow? Can faith, devotedness, and love, That seem to humbler creatures given To tell us what we owe above! The types of what is due to Heaven? Can these be with the things that _were_, Things cherished--but no more returning; And leave behind no trace of care, No shade that speaks a moment's mourning? Alas! my friend, of all of worth, That years have stol'n or years yet leave me, I've never known so much on earth, But that the loss of thine must grieve me. LINES FOR MUSIC. BY THEODORE S. FAY. Over forest and meadow the night breeze is stealing, The blush of the sunset is glowing no more-- And the stream which we love, harmless fires revealing, With ripples of silver is kissing the shore. I have watched from the beach which your presence enchanted, In the star-lighted heaven each beautiful gem, And I sighed as I thought, ere the break of the morning, From the gaze of my eyes you must vanish like them. Then stay where the night breeze o'er flowers is stealing, And raise your young voices in music once more; Let them blend with the stream, its soft murmurs revealing In the ripples of silver which roll to the shore. But when summer has fled, and yon flowers have faded, And the fields and the forests are withered and sere-- When the friends now together, by distance are parted, Leaving nothing but winter and loneliness here; Will you think of the hour, when in friendship united, I lingered at evening to bid you adieu; When I paused by the stream, with the stars so delighted, And wished I might linger for ever with you? Oh, forget not the time when that night breeze was stealing, Though desolate oceans between us may roar, The beach--and the stars--and the waters revealing Thoughts bright as the ripples which break on the shore. STANZAS. BY JOHN INMAN.