And as she ask'd, with voice of woeList'ning, the while, that fountain's flow"Shall I recover My truant lover?" The fountain seem'd to answer "No;" A HUNTER once in that grove reclin'd Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair, His song was still "Sweet air, oh come! While Echo answer'd, "Come, sweet Air!" But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise! What meaneth that rustling spray? ""Tis the white-horn'd doe," the Hunter cries, "I have sought since break of day," Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs, The arrow flies from his sounding bow, 'Hilliho-hilliho!" he gaily sings, While Echo sighs forth "Hilliho!" Alas, 'twas not the white-horn'd doe For pale at his feet he sees her lie;— "I die, I die,” was all she said, While Echo murmur'd, "I die, I die!" YOUTH AND AGE. "TELL me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day, To drooping Age, who crost his way."It is a sunny hour of play, For which repentance dear doth pay; And this is Love, as wise men say." "Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once more, Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore. 'Soft as a passing summer's wind: Would'st know the blight it leaves behind? Repentance! Repentance! And this is Love-when love is o'er." Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth again, This is Love-sweet Youth, beware." Just then, young Love himself came by, THE DYING WARRIOR. A WOUNDED Chieftain, lying Oh! bear, thou foaming tide, 'Twas then, in life's last quiver, Which, ah too quickly, bore With fond impatience burning, In triumph down the flood, But, field, alas, ill-fated! The lady saw, instead Of the bark whose speed she waited, With the drops his heart had shed. One shriek—and all was over- The gloomy waves now cover That bridal-flower so sweet, And the scarf is her winding sheet! "COME, if thy magic Glass have pow'r The Wizard show'd him his Lady bright, She's thinking of one, who is far away.” But, lo a page, with looks of joy, Brings tidings to the Lady's ear; "Tis," said the Knight, "the same bright boy, Who used to guide me to my dear." The lady now, from her fav'rite tree, She gives her page the blooming rose, With looks that say, "Like lightning, fly!" "Thus," thought the Knight, "she soothes her woes, By fancying, still, her true-love nigh." But the page returns, and-oh, what a sight, Leads to that bow'r another Knight, "Such," quoth the Youth, "is Woman's love!" Then, darting forth with furious bound, Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove, And strew'd it all in fragments round. MORAL. Such ills would never have come to pass, The Wizard would still have kept his Glass, THE PILGRIM. STILL thus, when twilight gleam'd, Far off his Castle seem'd, Trac'd on the sky; And still, as Fancy bore him To those dim tow'rs before him, He gaz'd, with wishful eye, And thought his home was nigh. Hall of my Sires!" he said, Each eve, as thus I wander, In vain all the Knights of the Underwald woo'd her, Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was she. Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her, But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye. "Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, so excelling, .< That Knight must the conq'ror of conquerors be; He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in;- |