THE RIVER VOYAGE.

Slow steals our Indian boat
Up rain-fed river wide;
Against the breeze we float,

Against the rushing tide;

And breast the strife of wind and stream

Without the conquering aid of steam.

II.

Swart forms in lengthened file
Along the green bank wind,
The tight-drawn goon* the while
To shouldered bamboos joined ;-
Patiently 'neath the burning sun
On plod they 'till the day is done.

III.

A toilsome journey theirs,

An

easy voyage ours,

And yet fantastic cares

Have equalized the dowers;

Theirs the light heart though heavy limb,

But ours the wearied soul and dim.

The rope from the mast-head to the trackers on shore.

LINES

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM PRESENTED TO A LADY BY THE AUTHOR.

LADY, when o'er these leaves thy bright eye strayeth,

Say, can thy heart forget the friendly giver?
When on the stream of life that ne'er delayeth
Our barks part company, perchance for ever,
Say, wilt thou then remember one whose sorrow
At the sad thought of severance, is sincerer

Than many a bard's who grief's low voice may borrow
And charm with sweeter sounds the cheated hearer?

Time rusheth onward like a rapid river;
Against its furious force no mortal wadeth;
And like a wave on which the sunbeams quiver
Each bright-faced pleasure lifts its form and fadeth.
There is no permanence for earthly glory

Or earthly bliss, and dearest friends must sever;
The fair, the brave, the youthful, and the hoary,

Have proved alike that joy is stable never.

And is there no dear resting place for feeling
Amid the giddy whirl of life's mutation?

Ah, yes! for love's and friendship's fond revealing

The true heart is a fixed and holy station.

I'll seek not then for Fortune's sweet beguiling,

Nor fear her frown, if thou'lt remember me;
While in thine heart fair Friendship sitteth smiling
Lady, I'll think exultingly of thee.

STANZAS.

I.

THE sudden throbs, the starting tears,
The tumult of the soul,

When some bright dream of happier years
Is shrouded in the storm of fears,

Can stoic pride control?

II.

Some cares there are that none may still,

And thoughts that none may share,

And incommunicable ill,

And pangs that silent bosoms thrill

Are those we least can bear.

III.

This clouded life is doubly dark

To him whose path is lone

And he whom Hope's far-glimmering spark
Ne'er leads to Faith's unfailing mark
Is quickly overthrown.

IV.

He sees with wild delirous eye,

And strives with awful dreams;

He may not mingle sigh with sigh;

To him affection's soft reply

Almost a mockery seems.

A MASONIC SONG.*

I.

How sacred is the mystic Craft,

That e'en in foreign lands, With ties of true fraternal love, Can join opposing hands!

II.

The blood-red arm of ruthless war,
As struck by spell divine,

Falls nerveless as a child's before

The Mason's secret sign.

III.

He finds 'mid foreign crowds a friend, A home 'neath every sky;

His countless brethren ne'er disdain

Their kindred, nor deny.

IV.

For that vast family are taught

To form one social band,

And bear the unbroken chain of love

To earth's remotest land.

V.

No narrow bounds of creed or clime,

Of language or of hue,

Contract the Mason's sympathies

When suffering brethren sue.

Set to music by W. H. Hamerton.

That tones like music of the spheres

Should cheat the truest heart that hears!

Ah me!