STOOP to my window, my beautiful dove! To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, This noise of people-this breezeless air? Thou, alone, of the feathered race Dost love with man in his haunts to be; 6 Has become a name for trust and love A holy gift is thine, sweet bird! Thou 'rt named with childhood's earliest word; Thou 'rt linked with all that is fresh and wild In the prisoned thoughts of the city child— And thy even wings Are its brightest image of moving things. It is no light chance. Thou art set apart Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. Come then, ever, when daylight leaves Lessons of heaven, sweet bird, in thee! A BRIDAL SERENADE. Anoo. WILT thou not waken, Bride of May, While the flow'rs are fresh, and the sweet bells chime? Listen, and learn from my roundelay How all Life's pilot boats sail'd, one day, A match with Time. Love sat on a lotus-leaf afloat, And saw old Time in his loaded boat; While Love sat clapping his wings, and cried 'Who will pass Time?' Patience came first; but soon was gone, And Prudence said, while he staid on the shore, 'I wait for Time.' Hope fill'd with flow'rs her cork-tree bark, And lighted its helm with a glow-worm's spark: Then Love, when he saw her bark fly past, Said, 'Lingering Time will soon be pass'd'Hope outspeeds Time!' Wit went nearest Old Time to pass, But Time sent the feathery arrows back; His gossamer sails he spread with speed— Unpitying Time! Wake and listen, then, Bride of May! Gave wings to Time. LIGHT. W. Palmer. FROM the quickened womb of the primal gloom The sun rolled black and bare, Till I wove him a nest for his Ethiop breast, And when the broad tent of the firmament I pencilled the hue of its matchless blue, I painted the flowers of the Eden bowers, And mine were the dyes in the sinless eyes And when the fiend's art on her trustful heart In the silvery sphere of the first-born tear To the trembling earth I fell. When the waves that burst o'er a world accursed Their work of wrath had sped, And the ark's lone few-the tried and true, Came forth among the dead. With the wondrous charms of my braided beams I bade their terrors cease, As I wrote on the roll of the storm's dark scroll God's covenant of peace. Like a pall at rest on a pulseless breast Where shepherd swains on the Bethlehem plains Their lonely vigils kept, When I flashed on their sight the heralds bright Of heaven's redeeming plan, As they chanted the morn of a Saviour born- Equal favor I shew to the lofty and low, E'en the blind, whose vain spheres roll in darkness and tears, Feel my smile-the blest smile of a friend. Nay, the flower of the waste by my love is embraced, As the rose in the garden of kings; The desolate morn, like a mourner forlorn, |