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But when the waning moon-beam sleeps
At moon-light on that lonely lea,
And nature's pensive spirit weeps
In all her dews, remember me.

Remember me, I pray-but not
In Flora's gay and blooming hour,
When every brake hath found its note,
And sunshine smiles in every flower;
But when the falling leaf is sear,
And withers sadly from the tree,
And o'er the ruins of the year

Cold Autumn weeps, remember me.

Remember me, but choose not, dear,
The hour when, on the gentle lake,
The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,
Soft rippling, to the margin break;
But when the deaf'ning billows foam
In madness o'er the pathless sea,
Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam
Across them, and remember me.

Remember me-but not to join

If haply some thy friends should praise; "Tis far too dear, that voice of thine

To echo what the stranger says. They know us not-but shouldst thou meet Some faithful friend of me and thee,

Softly, sometimes, to him repeat

My name, and then remember me.

Remember me-not, I entreat,

In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet,

The thought thy pleasure should alloy;

But on the sacred, solemn day,

And, dearest, on thy bended knee, When thou for those thou lov'st dost pray, Sweet spirit, then remember me.

Remember me-but not as I

On thee for ever, ever dwell,

With anxious heart and drooping eye,

And doubts 't would grieve thee should I tell; But in thy calm unclouded heart,

Where dark and gloomy visions flee,

Oh there, my sister, be my part,

And kindly there remember me,

EDWARD EVERETT.

THE WRECK.

ALL night the booming minute-gun
Had peal'd along the deep,
And mournfully the rising sun
Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep.
A bark from India's coral strand,
Before the rushing blast,
Had vail'd her topsails to the sand,
And bow'd her noble mast.

The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven,
And true ones died with her!

We saw her mighty cable riven,

Like floating gossamer;

We saw her proud flag struck that morn,

A star once o'er the seas,

Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn,
And sadder things than these.

We saw her treasures cast away;
The rocks with pearl were strown:
And, strangely sad, the ruby's ray
Flash'd out o'er fretted stone;

And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze,

And gorgeous robes-but, oh! that shore
Had sadder sights than these!

We saw the strong man, still and low,
A crush'd reed thrown aside!

Yet, by that rigid lip and brow,

Not without strife he died!

And near him on the sea-weed lay,
Till then we had not wept,

But well our gushing hearts might say,
That there a mother slept!

For her pale arms a babe had press'd
With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp.
Her very tresses had been flung

To wrap the fair child's form,

Where still their wet, long streamers clung, All tangled by the storm.

And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene,
Gleam'd up the boy's dead face,
Like slumbers, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace.

Deep in her bosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet eye;

He had known little of her dread,
Naught of her agony!

Oh, human love! whose yearning heart,
Through all things vainly true,

So stamps upon thy mortal part

Its passionate adieu!

Surely thou hast another lot,

There is some home for thee,

Where thou shalt rest, remembering not

The moaning of the sea!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.

GROUP after group are gathering. Such as press'd
Once to their Saviour's arms, and gently laid
Their cherub heads upon his shielding breast,
Though sterner souls the fond approach forbade,-
Group after group glide on with noiseless tread,
And round Jehovah's sacred altar meet,
Where holy thoughts in infant hearts are bred,
And holy words their ruby lips repeat,

Oft with a chasten'd glance, in modulation sweet.

Yet some there are, upon whose childish brows
Wan poverty hath done the work of care.
Look up, ye sad ones!-'t is your Father's house,
Beneath whose consecrated doom you are;
More gorgeous robes ye see, and trappings rare,
And watch the gaudier forms that gaily move,
And deem, perchance, mistaken as you are,

The "coat of many colours" proves His love, Whose sign is in the heart, and whose reward above.

And ye, bless'd labourers in this humble sphere,
To deeds of saint-like charity inclined,
Who, from your cells of meditation dear,

Come forth to gird the weak, untutor'd mind,—
Yet ask no payment, save one smile refined
Of grateful love,-one tear of contrite pain,-
Meekly ye forfeit to your mission kind

The rest of earthly Sabbaths.-Be your gain A Sabbath without end, 'mid yon celestial plain. MRS. SIGOURNEY.

VERSES FOR AN ALBUM.

FRESH clad from heaven in robes of white,

A young probationer of light,

Thou wert, my soul, an Album bright,

A spotless leaf; but thought, and care,
And friends, and foes, in foul or fair,
Have "written strange defeature" there.

And time, with heaviest hand of all,
Like that fierce writing on the wall,
Hath stamp'd sad dates-he can't recall.

And error, gilding worst designs

Like speckled snake that strays and slimes-
Betrays his path by crooked lines.

And vice hath left his ugly blot,-
And good resolves, a moment hot,
Fairly begun-but finish'd not.

And fruitless late remorse doth trace-
Like Hebrew lore, her backward pace-
Her irrecoverable race.

Disjointed members-sense unknit-
Huge reams of folly-shreds of wit-
Compose the mingled mass of it.

My scalded eyes no longer brook
Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look,
Go-shut the leaves-and clasp the book!

CHARLES LAMB

A FATHER'S FAREWELL.

COME near to me, my gentle girl,
Come, share a father's parting sorrow,-
And weep with me those tears to-day,
Nor thou, nor I, may weep to-morrow.
Come, lean once more upon my breast,
As when a simple child caressing,
For another day, and far away

Wilt thou be from thy father's blessing.

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