I would not forget them,

They 're dear to my heart, And often my fancy

Will still take a part;

Still play on the hill-side,

Still roam in the grove; A father and mother,

Sister and brother,

That cherish and love.

J. M. F.

Departed Friends.

The beautiful,

the beautiful

Are faded from our track,

We miss them, and we mourn them,

But cannot lure them back;
For an iron sleep hath bound them

In its passionate embrace;
We may weep, but cannot win them

From their dreary resting place.

ANON.

Album.

My name is Album, pretty name,
As ladies oft do say;

I tell of beauty, love, and fame,
And all that's bright and gay.

Come, give to me, that I may give
Unto my lady fair,

Bright visions which in thought do live,
Fresh from the poet's lair.

Cull me the sweetest of the sweet,

The purest of the pure,

That all that's brightest, best, may meet

In Album's fold secure.

HAYNES.

If I could Love.

If I could love, I'd find me out
A roguish, laughing eye,

A cheek to blush, a lip to pout,
pure kind heart, to sigh.

A

A fairy hand, to touch and glance,
From note to note with glee,

A fairy foot to trip the dance

And lead it down with me.

A soul to share in all my fun,
And feel for all my woes,

And as our little life should run
To take it as it goes.

And O, when follies all have fled
And solemn thoughts shall rise,

To soothe me on my dying bed
And meet me in the skies.

Such thoughts are vain, too vain, yet why

Should you such thoughts reprove;

O pity, pity me, for I

Am poor, and cannot love.

BRAINARD.

The pity of the Park Fountain.

'T was a summery day in the last of May,-
Pleasant in sun or shade;

And the hours went by as the poets say,
Fragrant and fair on their flowery way;
And a hearse crept slowly through Broadway,
And the Fountain gaily played.

The Fountain played right merrily,
And the world look'd bright and gay;
And a youth went by, with a restless eye,
Whose heart was sick and whose brain was dry;
And he prayed to God that he might die,-
And the Fountain played away.

Up rose the spray like a diamond throne,
And the drops like music rang,-
And of those who marvelled how it shone,
Was a proud man, left, in his shame, alone;
And he shut his teeth with a smothered groan,-
And the Fountain sweetly sang.

And a rainbow spanned it changefully,

Like a bright ring broke in twain;
And the pale, fair girl who stopped to see,
Was sick with pangs of poverty,-

And from hunger to guilt she chose to flee

As the rainbow smiled again.

And all was gay, on another day,

The morning will have shone;

And at noon, unmask'd, through bright Broadway A hearse will take its silent way;

And the bard who sings will have passed away,— And the Fountain will play on!

N. P. WILLIS.