But swept within destruction's maw
From her had he been torn.

She sat and sung, with simple tongue,
When none could hear or see,
Oh, hon-a-ree!

5. An infant in untimely hour
Died in a Lowland cot;

The parents own'd the hand of power
That bids the storm be still or lour;
They grieved because the cup was sour,
And yet they murmured not.
They only sung with simple tongue,
When none could hear or see,

Ah, wae's me!

Thomas Smibert (1810 — 1854).

ANNABEL LEE.

1. It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

2. I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love which was more than love

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

3. And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her high-born kinsman came,
And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

4. The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me—

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know
In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

5. But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we

And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

6. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling-my darling--my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Edgar Poe (1811 — 1849).

GARDEN GOSSIP.

ACCOUNTING FOR THE COOLNESS BETWEEN THE LILY AND
VIOLET.

1. "I will tell you a secret,” the honey-bee said
To a violet drooping her dew-laden head;
"The lily's in love! for she listened last night,
While her sisters all slept in the holy moonlight,
To a zephyr that just had been rocking the rose,
Where, hidden, I hearkened in seeming repose.

2. "I would not betray her to any but you, But the secret is safe with a spirit so trueIt will rest in your bosom in silence profound.” The violet bent her blue eye to the ground: A tear and a smile in her loving look lay, While the light-winged gossip went whirring away. 3. "I will tell you a secret," the honey-bee said, And the young lily lifted her beautiful head"The violet thinks, with her timid blue eye, To pass for a blossom enchantingly shy;

But for all her sweet manners, so modest and pure, She gossips with every gay bird that sings to her. 4. "Now let me advise you, sweet flower, as a friend, Oh, ne'er to such beings your confidence lend; It grieves me to see one, all guileless like you, Thus wronging a spirit so trustful and true: But not for the world, love, my secret betray!" And the little light gossip went buzzing away. 5. A blush in the lily's cheek trembled and fled : "I'm sorry he told me," she tenderly said;

"If I mayn't trust the violet, pure as she seems,
I must fold in my own heart my beautiful dreams."
Was the mischief well managed? fair lady is't true?
Did the light garden gossip take lessons of you!
Mrs. Osgood (1812-1850).

TO OCTOBER.

1. Gorgeous are thy woods, October!
Clad in glowing mantles sear;
Brightest tints of beauty blending,
Like the west, when day's descending,
Thou'rt the sunset of the year.

2. Beauteous are thy rowan trees, glowing
With their beads of coral dye;

Beauteous are thy wild-rose bushes,
Where the hip in ripeness blushes,
Like a maid whose lover's nigh.

3. Sweet to see thy dark eyes peeping

From the tangled blackthorn bough,
Sweet thy elder's purple fruitage,
Clustering o'er the woodland cottage;
Sweet thy hawthorn's crimson glow.
4. Fading flowers are thine, October!
Droopeth sad the sweet bluebell.
Gone the blossoms April cherished ---
Violet, lily, rose, all perished-
Fragrance fled from field and dell.
5. Songless are thy woods, October!

Save when red breast's mournful lay
Through the calm gray morn is swelling,
To the list'ning echoes telling
Tales of darkness and decay.

6. Saddest sounds are thine, October!
Music of the falling leaf

O'er the pensive spirit stealing,
To its inmost depths revealing;
"Thus all gladness sinks in grief."

7. I do love thee, drear October!

More than budding, blooming Spring,
Hers is hope, delusive smiling,
Trusting hearts to grief beguiling;
Mem'ry loves thy dusky wing.

8. Joyous hearts may love the summer,

Bright with sunshine, song, and flower; But the heart whose hopes are blighted, In the gloom of woe benighted,

Better loves thy kindred bower.

9. 'Twas in thee, thou sad October! Death laid low my bosom flower.

Life hath been a wintry river
O'er whose ripple gladness never

Gleameth brightly since that hour.

10. Hearts would fain be with their treasure, Mine is slumb'ring in the clay;

Wandering here alone, uncheery,

Deem't not strange this heart should weary
For its own October day.

Hugh M'Donald (1817 - 1860).

BABY'S SHOES.

1. O those little, those little blue shoes!
Those shoes that no little feet use!
O the price were high

That those shoes would buy,

Those little blue unused shoes!

2. For they hold the small shape of feet That no more their mother's eyes meet, That by God's good-will,

Years since grew still,

And ceased from their totter so sweet!

3. And O, since that baby slept,

So hush'd! how the mother has kept,
With a tearful pleasure,

That little dear treasure,

And o'er them thought and wept!

4. For they mind her for evermore

Of a patter along the floor,
And blue eyes she sees

Look up from her knees,

With the look that in life they wore.

5. As they lie before her there,

There babbles from chair to chair

A little sweet face,