PASS thou on! for the vow is said

That may ne'er be broken;

The trembling hand hath a blessing laid On snowy forehead and auburn braid, And the word is spoken

By lips that never their word betray'd.

Pass thou on! for thy human all

Is richly given,

And the voice that claims its holy thrall

Must be sweeter for life than music's fall,

And, this side heaven,

Thy lip may never that trust recall.

Pass thou on! yet many an eye

Will droop and glisten;

And the hushing heart in vain will try

To still its pulse as thy step goes by,

And we vainly listen

For thy voice of witching melody.

Pass thou on! yet a sister's tone

In its sweetness lingers,

Like some twin echo sent back alone,

Or the bird's soft note when its mate hath flown;

And a sister's fingers

Will again o'er the thrilling harp be thrown.

And our eyes will rest on their foreheads fair,

And our hearts awaken

Whenever we come where their voices are

But oh, we shall think how musical were,
Ere of thee forsaken,

The mingled voices we listed there.

DESPONDENCY IN SPRING.

BEAUTIFUL robin! with thy feathers red Contrasting, flower-like, with the soft green tree,

Making thy little flights, as thou art led

By things that tempt a simple one like thee.

I would that thou couldst warble me to tears

As lightly as the birds of other

years!

Idly to lie beneath an April sun,

Pressing the perfume from the tender grass;

To watch a joyous rivulet leap on With the clear tinkle of a music glass,

And, as I saw the early robin pass,

To hear him through his little compass run—

Only with joys like these to overflow

Is happiness my heart will no more know.

TO A COQUETTE.

EXQUISITE Laura! with thy pouting lip

And the arch smile that makes me constant so, Tempting me still, like a dull bee, to sip

The flower I should have left so long ago— Beautiful Laura! who art just so fair

That I can think thee loveliest when alone,

And still art not so wonderfully rare

That I could never find a prettier one— Fetterless Laura! laughing, sighing, crying, In the same breath, and gravest with the gay, So wild that Cupid ever shoots thee flying, And knows his archery is thrown away— Inconstant as I am, I cannot yet

Break thy sweet chain, oh merciless coquette!

THE TABLE OF EMERALD.

“Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, on which the thrice-great Hermes engraved, before the flood, the secret of alchymy that gives gold at will."

Moore's Epicurean.

THAT Emerald vast of the Pyramid

Were I where it is laid,

I would ask no king for his heavy crown
As its mystic words were said.
The pomp of wealth, the show of power
In vain for me would shine,

And nought that brings the mind a care
Would win bright gold of mine.

Would I feast all day-revel all night—
Laugh with a secret sadness?

Would I sleep away the breezy morn

And wake to the goblet's madness?
Would I spend no time and no golden ore
For the wisdom that sages knew?

Would I run to waste with a human mind,

To its holy trust untrue?