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A SERENADE

Look out upon the stars, my love,
And shame them with thine eyes,
On which, than on the lights above,
There hang more destinies.
Night's beauty is the harmony
Of blending shades and light;
Then, lady, up, look out, and be
A sister to the night!

Sleep not! thine image wakes for aye
Within my watching breast:
Sleep not! from her soft sleep should fly
Who robs all hearts of rest.
Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break,
And make this darkness gay

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Where woke the transient smile or tear,
When you and I were boys.

We were youths together,
And castles built in air,
Your heart was like a feather,

And mine weighed down with care;

To you came wealth with manhood's prime,
To me it brought alloys.
Foreshadowed in the primrose time,
When you and I were boys.

We're old men together:

The friends we loved of yore,

With leaves of autumn weather,
Are gone forevermore.

How blest to age the impulse given,
The hope time ne'er destroys,

Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven

When you and I were boys!

NEAR THE LAKE

NEAR the lake where drooped the willow,
Long time ago!

Where the rock threw back the billow,
Brighter than snow,

Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherished
By high and low;

But with autumn's leaf she perished,
Long time ago!

Rock and tree and flowing water,
Long time ago!

Bee and bird and blossom taught her
Love's spell to know.

While to my fond words she listened,
Murmuring low,

Tenderly her dove-eyes glistened,
Long time ago!

Mingled were our hearts forever,
Long time ago!

Can I now forget her? - Never!
No-lost one-no!

To her grave these tears are given,
Ever to flow:

She's the star I missed from heaven,
Long time ago!

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JEANNIE MARSH

JEANNIE MARSH of Cherry Valley,
At whose call the muses rally;

Of all the nine none so divine
As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley.
She minds me of her native scenes,
Where she was born among the cherries;
Of peaches, plums, and nectarines,
Pears, apricots, and ripe strawberries.

Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley,
In whose name the muses rally;

Of all the nine none so divine
As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley.
A sylvan nymph of queenly grace,

A goddess she in form and feature;
The sweet expression of the place,
A dimple in the smile of nature.

George Denison Prentice

MEMORIES

ONCE more, once more, my Mary dear,
I sit by that lone stream,
Where first within thy timid ear

I breathed love's burning dream. The birds we loved still tell their tale Of music, on each spray,

And still the wild-rose decks the vale But thou art far away.

In vain thy vanished form I seek,
By wood and stream and dell,
And tears of anguish bathe my cheek
Where tears of rapture fell;

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And yet beneath these wild-wood bowers
Dear thoughts my soul employ,
For in the memories of past hours
There is a mournful joy.

Upon the air thy gentle words
Around me seemed to thrill,

Like sounds upon the wind-harp's chords
When all the winds are still,

Or like the low and soul-like swell
Of that wild spirit-tone,

Which haunts the hollow of the bell
When its sad chime is done.

I seem to hear thee speak my name
In sweet low murmurs now;

I seem to feel thy breath of flame
Upon my cheek and brow;
On my cold lips I feel thy kiss,
Thy heart to mine is laid
Alas, that such a dream of bliss
Like other dreams must fade!

NEW ENGLAND

FOR A CELEBRATION IN KENTUCKY OF THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS

CLIME of the brave! the high heart's home,

Laved by the wild and stormy sea! Thy children, in this far-off land,

Devote to-day their hearts to thee; Our thoughts, despite of space and time, To-day are in our native clime,

Where passed our sinless years, and where Our infant heads first bowed in prayer.

Stern land! we love thy woods and rocks, Thy rushing streams, thy winter glooms, And Memory, like a pilgrim gray,

Kneels at thy temples and thy tombs:

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