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'Twas thus I knelt beside the couch,

By little Florence graced,
And softly kissed the snowy neck

Her dimpled hands embraced.
The rose-tint softly flushed her cheek,

Her lips were cherry red,
And innocence and love combined

O'er every feature spread.

And as I gazed, methought a smile

Played o'er the features fair,
Which spoke a spirit, bright and pure,

And dreams, all free from care ;
It told me, too, of angel guards

To shield the lovely guest, As through the years of childhood bright,

The little one progress'd.

Original Poems.

BACCHANALIAN SONG.

BY MELVILLE WESTON FULLER.

GAILY the wine in our goblets is gleaming,

Bright on its surface the foam bubbles swim, So the smiles of our joy from each countenance beaming,

Are the bubbles that dance on the cup of life's brim. Oh, what are life's hopes and its high aspirations,

But wishes for things that are not what they seem?
Away to the shades with such dull contemplations,

Utopian visions where all is a dream -
The flag at our mast-head is pleasure's own banner,

And to the breeze boldly its broad folds we fling,
While each stout-hearted sailor will raise the hossanna

To ivy-crowned Bacchus, our jolly-souled king. Then fill up your glasses, lads, fill up your glasses,

With frolicksome pleasure the moments employ, Since life is a span, each bright hour it passes,

When siezed on its flight, it is ours to enjoy.

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Visions of still meadows

Where the sunshine slept,
And of dreamy woods, where twilight

Endless watches kept; –

Of the paths familiar

To our childish feet,
And of brooks whose warbling voices

Were forever sweet.

Visions of the summers

Whose warm bloom is o'er, And of hearts, whose bloom was warmer,

With us now no more.

Happy hearts that bounded

Without thought or care,
Now beneath the sod, — with only

Pansies planted there.

Blossoming so meekly,

Little purple flowers,
Ye are full of brighter visions,

Than these faded hours !

Full of dreams reflecting

More than rainbow dyes, Full of golden hopes for reaching

Into Paradise !

0, there's not a single beauty

In this life of ours,
Which is not most sweetly uttered

By the simplest flowers!

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