V.

MOONSHINE.

ROLL on, bright Moon! And if we bid or not,
It would, undoubtedly, as ever shine.
How sweetly on yon bank its beams recline,
A radiant glory hallowing the spot,

Revealing rock and shrub in mystic show,

The tall trees rising steeple-like and high, Their forms disclosed against the western sky, And flowers, moon-tinted there amid the glow; Revealing lovers, vowing by that moon

Eternal fealty, everlasting truth,

And hosts of pretty oaths impelled by youth, Rapidly made, and broken full as soon!

Revealing, too, 'mid country autumn airs,

Young men and roguish maidens "hooking" pears.

VI.

A SUMMER NIGHT.

'NEATH the mild beauty of a summer night,
I leave my chamber to enjoy the air, -
To feel its eddies circling in my hair,
And feel it kiss my brow in wild delight.
The starry gems bestud the concave high;
O blessed Stars! on you I fix my eye,

And long for your bright spheres to take my flight.
Beneath o'erlacing elms, shut out from sight,

I stray, my head reclined upon my breast,
My thoughts away, away amid the blest, -
The world forgot, in my abstractions, quite.

Hark! there's a sound of earth, a note of bliss,
A most ecstatic smack, I wis,

Borne to my ear from darkness, comes a lover's kiss!

CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.

TO AN AUTUMN ROSE.

TELL her I love her, love her for those eyes,

Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth, Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies,

Reveal two heavens here to us on earth,

The one in which their soulful beauty lies,

And that wherein such soulfulness has birth.

Go to my lady, ere the season flies,

And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast, Go! and with all of eloquence thou hast,

The burning story of my love discover ;

And if the theme should fail, alas! to move her, Tell her when youth's gay budding time is past, And summer's gaudy flowering is over,

Like thee, my love will blossom to the last!

ANONYMOUS.

I.

O'ER the far waters floats the boatman's song,
Timed by the faint fall of the distant oar;
The fitful surges roll their waves along,

With hoarse and wrathful murmurings to the shore; Through the rent woof of fleecy clouds afar

Steals on my soul like evening's holy close,

The lovely lustrous light of a lone star,

Heralding the Night-Queen to her sweet repose :
Yet all this fairy scene hath left no power,
No balm to bring my burdened heart relief,

Sitting alone in midnight's witching hour,

Bowed by the spell of an o'ermastering grief,

While half the world lies wrapped in slumber deep,

Calm as the moon's pale beams that on these waters sleep.

WONDERFUL Spirit!

II.

TO POESY.

whose eternal shrine

Is in great poets' souls, whose voice doth send High truths and dreams prophetic without end Into the blind world from those founts divine, Deep adoration from such souls is thine;

But I have loved thee, spirit, as a friend, Wooed thee, in pensive leisure, but to lend Thy sweetness to this wayward heart of mine, And charm my lone thoughts into joyousness.

And I have found that thou canst lay aside Thy terrors and thy glory and thy pride; Quit thy proud temples for a calm recess.

In lowly hearts, and dream sweet hours away, Winning from sterner thoughts a frequent holiday.