JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

From an

engraving after an original miniature.

WBTC

And the boughs with leaves be fair,
And the sun shine everywhere.

66

Softly through the snow we settle,
Little snow-drops press each petal.
Oh, the snow is kind and white,-
Soft it is, and very light;

Soon we shall be where no light is,-
But where sleep is, and where night is,-
Sleep of every wind unshaken,

Till our Summer bids us waken."

Then toward some far-off goal that singing drew;
Then altogether ceased; more steely blue
The blue stars shone; but in my spirit grew
Hope of Summer, love of Roses,

Certainty that Sorrow closes.

PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON.

THE CULPRIT FAY.

"My visual orbs are purged from film, and, lo! Instead of Anster's turnip-bearing vales,

I see old fairy land's miraculous show!

Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, Her ouphs that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the breeze, And fairies, swarming

--TENNANT'S "ANSTER FAIR."

"T is the middle watch of a summer's night,The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright;

Naught is seen in the vault on high

But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue,

A river of light on the welkin blue.