When Winter in her frozen zone Robs earth of green-- When only Friendship can atone For what has been-- When round the hearth your other friends you see, It is the hour I love--think then of me. In days of bliss when hope is nigh, And life is dear, Your heart with joy elate beats high, And friends are near-- Forget not there is one will ever be Glad of thy gladness; cast a thought on me. And when the darksome days Of age or ill The bright and cheering rays Of hope shall chill, Think there is one whose love can never be Changed with Time's changes--oh remember me. E. A. S. For the Southern Literary Messenger. THE SEA BIRD'S REVEL. BY GILES McQUIGGIN. Look out upon the ocean wave-- Look from the lonely shore; See how the mountain billows rave, Hark how the waters roar! Darkly hangs the tempest cloud, From windward to the lee; The thunder mutters hoarse and loud Above the foaming sea. 'Tis nature in her revel hour-- She sweeps a stormy wing; Old Ocean trembles at her power, As wild his surges fling. The sea bird rides upon her wrath, Rocks on the tempest's ire-- Surveys the lurid lightning's path, And shouts amid its fire. The proud bird breasts the storm alone, Mounts through its misty height-- The summit is his lofty throne, The thunder his delight. While gazing on the horrors round, His burning eye-balls glare; King of the storm, with lightnings crown'd, He fears no terrors there. When he for very gladness shrieks, It deafens ocean's roar-- O'er nature in her wildest freaks The proud storm king may soar. Ride on aerial charioteer, The tempest hails thy form; Thou lov'st a sky forever clear, Go seek it through the storm. For the Southern Literary Messenger. I MET THEE BY MOONLIGHT ALONE. BY M. S. LOVETT. _Air_--"Oh! meet me by moonlight alone." I met thee by moonlight alone, The blue sky was cloudless above; And dew-gems around us were thrown, To gladden our meeting of love. I met thee by moonlight alone, My heart trusting wholly to thee: Was it prudent? Alas! I will own That I asked not, for _thou_ wast with me. How buoyant my heart, and how sweet The zephyrs that waved through my hair! Low murmured the stream at my feet, Its tale to the summer-night air. But ah! did the sky cease to smile? The Moon--were her silver rays gone? Did _each_ beauty but tarry the while We met--love, by moonlight alone? Oh no, for the sky is still bright, The dew-drops still nightly have shone: On _me_ fell the darkness and blight: I met thee by moonlight alone! And the pale Moon while wand'ring above, Oft hears its sad votaries own, That too often the Altar of Love Is lighted by moonlight alone. For the Southern Literary Messenger.