To a Canary Bird.

Each morn as the bright sun peeps over the trees,
Thy sweet song is heard as it floats on the breeze;
And long as he tarries to brighten the day,
So long may be heard thy melodious lay.

If darkness or gloom in my spirit should dwell, Thy lay in its sweetness would sever the spell; Oh! who could be sad, when thy silvery note Is flung to the zephyrs that over us float.

Then sing, sweet canary! not only for me,
I know of another that listens to thee;

Another whose voice is so much like thine own,-
Little fellow, I know where you learned that tone.

Then sing pretty bird, carol forth thy sweet lay! Let it float through the air, and gladden the day; And oft as I hear it, in innocent glee,

I'll think of another that listens to thee.

J. M. F.

Lines written in a Young Lady's Album.

I'd offer thee this heart of mine,

If I could love thee less;
But hearts as warm, as soft as thine,
Should never know distress.

My fortune is too hard for thee,
'T would chill thy dearest joy;
I'd rather weep to see thee free,
Than win thee to destroy.

I leave thee in thy happiness,
As one too dear to love!

As one I'll think of but to bless,
Whilst wretchedly I rove.

But oh when sorrow's cup I drink,

All bitter though it be,

How sweet to me 't will be to think

It holds no drop for thee.

Then fare thee well; an exile now,
Without a friend or home,

With anguish written on my brow,
About the world I 'll roam.

For all my dreams are sadly o'er,
Fate bade them all depart, -

And I will leave my native shore,

In brokenness of heart.

ΑΝΟΝ.

The Tulip and the Eglantine.

The Tulip called to the Eglantine, "Good neighbor, I hope you see

How the throngs that visit the gardens come And pay their respects to me.

The florist bows to my elegant form,

And praises my rainbow ray,

Till I'm half afraid thro' his raptured eyes He'll be gazing his soul away."

"It may be so," said the Eglantine, "In a shadier nook I dwell,

And what is passing among the great

I cannot know so well;

But they speak of me as the FLOWER OF LOVE; And that low whispered name

Is dearer to me and my infant buds,

Than the loudest breath of fame."

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

Mid-summer.

"T is the summer prime, when the noiseless air

In perfumed chalice lies,

And the bee goes by with a lazy hum,

Beneath the sleeping skies.

When the brook is low and the ripples bright,

As down the stream they go,

The pebbles are dry on the upper side,

And dark and wet below.

The tree that stood when the soil 's athirst,
And the mulleins first appear,
Hath a dry and rusty-colored bark,
And its leaves are curled and sere;
But the dogwood and the hazel bush
Have clustered round the brook,-
Their roots have stricken deep beneath,
And they have a verdant look.

To the juicy leaf the grasshopper clings,
And he gnaws it like a file,

The naked stalks are withering by,

Where he has been erewhile.

The cricket hops on the glistening rock,
Or pipes in the faded grass.
The beetle's wings are folded mute,
When the steps of the idler pass.

E. O. SMITH.

By-past Hours.

Go! dream of by-past hours:
In retrospect, once more
Pluck fancy's gayest flowers,
And revel in thy store.
Go, seek thy native cot,
Scene of affection free,
Where pleasure cheered thy lot,
Where love was all to thee.

Do this, but never tell

The heartless world thy dream;

Its scorn would hope dispel,
Would crush the fairy theme:

Do this, but in thy breast
Let each fond wish expire;

For sorrows unrepressed
Are his who loves the lyre.

ΤΑΡΡΑΝ.