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I climb the mountain's height,

And sadly gaze around,
No waters meet my sight,

I hear no rushing sound.

Oh, would I were at home,

Beside the glorious sea,
To bathe within its foam

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.

LEWIS DELA.

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 —
Standing in the street a sawyer ;
On the lawyer's anxious face
You could read a knotty case,

Needing law;
While the sawyer, gaunt and grim,
On a rough and knotty limb

Ran his saw.

Now the saw-horse seemed to me
Like a double X in fee,

And the saw,
Whichever way 'twas thrust,
Must be followed by the dust,

Like the law.

And the law upon the track,
Like the client on the rack,

Playing its part;
As the tempered teeth of steel
Made a wound that would not heal

Through the heart.

And each severed stick that fell,
In its falling seemed to tell

All too plain,
Of the many severed ties
That in law suits will arise,

Bringing pain.

Then methought the sturdy paw,
That was using axe and saw

On the wood,
Had a yielding mine of wealth
With his honest toil and health,

Doing good.

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-

Happy deed!

This conclusion then I draw,
That no exercise of jaw,
Twisting India rubber law,

Is as good,
As the exercise of paw,

Sawing wood.

SARAH HAYFORD.

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,
And felt the balmy breath that came

From ’neath the quiet breast :
I saw the smile of innocence,

That wreathed the sunny brow,
And felt 'twould never wear a smile

love than now.

Of purer

There is a sweet, a heavenly charm

Around the infant thrown,
A mild and gentle purity,
In after

years

unknown.
No wonder to my partial eye

This darling of my heart,
Of gentle loveliness should seem

To bear a larger part.

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