SONG.

The following lines were written to the air No. 4., in the 5th book of Mendelsohn's "Lieder ohne Wörte."

The joy of sorrow;

The sweetest pleasure,
A tear-bought treasure
Of heavenly birth!

Though all around me

Were darkness veiling,

Yet light unfailing

In death shall rise!

Though day departeth,

Nor cloud nor sorrow

Shall dim that morrow

In yonder skies!

THE FRIEND.

THERE is a friend, whose love
Is closer than a brother's, -
Tender, endearing,-'tis above

E'en fondness like a mother's:
She may forget her suckling's cry,
His ear attends the feeblest sigh.

On Him thy panting breast,

By care and anguish riven,
Bleeding and torn, hath found its rest,
From other refuge driven:

And earth, with all its joys and fears,
Hath ceased to bring or smiles or tears.

Morn's dew-enamell'd flowers,

The cloud through azure sweeping,
Their brightness owe to sadder hours,
Their calm, to storms and weeping.-
That Friend shall thus each tear illume,
To forms of glory shape that gloom.

Eve's sapphire cloud hath been
Dark as the brow of sorrow;

Those dew pearls wreath'd in emerald

Once wept a coming morrow: —

But glory sprang o'er earth and sky,

And all was light and ecstacy.

green,

Yon star upon the brow

Of night's grey coronet,

Morn's radiant blush, eve's ruddy glow,

Had yon bright sun ne'er set, Were hidden still from mortal sight,. Lost in impenetrable light.

Then should afflictions come,
Dark as the shroud of even,
A thousand glories glitter from
The burning arch of heaven!

Though earth be wrapt in doubt and gloom,
New splendours dawn o'er daylight's tomb.

And who that azure hung

With lamps of living fire?

Who, when the hosts of morning sung,
First listen'd to their quire?
The Man of Sorrows mercy sent,—
In heav'n the GOD!--the Omnipotent!

He is that friend, whose love
Nor life nor death shall sever!
Eternal as yon throne above,

Unchanged, endures for ever.

What would'st thou more, frail fabric of the dust; OMNIPOTENCE thy Shield!thy Refuge!-Trust!

LINES TO A LADY

WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD NEVER SEEN.

WHAT though thy form I ne'er beheld,
Yet fancy oft would trace
Expression, features, look, with all

Their witchery or grace.

What though thy voice were never heard, I felt its melting tone,

That came like some mysterious spell,

Unbidden and alone!

I saw thee in the wingéd beam,
First-born of morning light;

In darkness oft I saw thee still,

A vision of the night.

And though unheard, unseen, — thy name

The same sweet image brings,

And fancy o'er the mimic scene,
Her own bright halo flings.

Oh who shall tell the wondrous glimpse

Imagination threw,

As though past, present, and to come

Were open to her view!

L