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I climb the mountain's height,
And sadly gaze around,
I hear no rushing sound.
Oh, would I were at home,
Beside the glorious sea,
And list its melody!
HANNAH AUGUSTA MOORE.
THis young lady was born in the town of Wiscasset, Lincoln County, but has resided for several years in Brooklyn, N. Y. Some of her poems have attracted the attention of several prominent literary men.
THE SPIRIT OF SONG.
DESIRE it not, that fatal boon of sadness,
Young Dreamer, sailing o'er life's summer sea, 'Tis born of grief, in hearts whose all of gladness
Has died ’mid throes of mortal agony.
Desire it not; only where joy is dying,
In the dark caverns of the soul it dwells, Its strength is drawn from tears, and groans and sighing,
From bleeding hearts the mystic music wells.
Yes, thence it wells, like springs of living water,
Or like the tide that rushes forth amain From severed veins, on the red fields of slaughter,
Where heaps on heaps, are piled the battle's slain.
Its stirring numbers roll with mightiest power,
Where deepest, darkest floods of anguish sweep: Oh, doubt me not, it is a mournful dower,
Bestowed on those whose portion is to weep.
'Tis ever thus ; the grape yields not its treasure,
Save as the life from out its heart is press'd; And agony, that knows not stint nor measure,
Wrings out sweet music from the human breast.
Ah, glances bright, and mirth and joyous singing,
Smiles, and light footsteps cheat the ear and eye, While over all, within, despair is flinging
Its blight-like mist descending heavily.
Then ask it not, that fatal boon of sadness,
Young Dreamer, sailing o'er life's summer sea, For first must fade thy smiles of heartfelt gladness,
And tears must quench thy joyful spirit's glee.
Tuis humorous poet is a native of Portland, where he is now engaged in the practice of Law.
LAW vs. SAW.
Sitting in his office was a lawyer —
Ran his saw.
Now the saw-horse seemed to me
And the saw,
Like the law.
And the law upon the track,
Playing its part;
Through the heart.
And each severed stick that fell,
All too plain,
Then methought the sturdy paw,
On the wood,
If the chips that strewed the ground, By some stricken widow found
In her need, Should by light and warmth impart Blessings to her aged heart
This conclusion then I draw,
Is as good,
Miss HAYFORD is the adopted daughter of Arvida Hayford, Esq., of Bangor, where she now resides. The following little gem has been extensively circulated, under the title of "Sweet Florence,' and comes to us in Lelia's Offering.'
THE SLEEPING BABE.
I sat beside a sleeping babe,
And watched its gentle rest,
From 'neath the quiet breast:
That wreathed the sunny brow,
Of purer love than now.
There is a sweet, a heavenly charm
Around the infant thrown,
In after years unknown.
This darling of my heart,
To bear a larger part.