OUR WESTERN GIRLS.

They tell me of the sylph-like forms
That float along the mazy dance,
Where love the glowing bosom warms—
In sunny Spain, and vine-clad France;
But still I sing the girls we love!
And still I drink no other toast;

The girls we love!—all girls above,
Our fairest pride, our fondest boast!

The girls we love! The girls we love!
The daughters of our native clime;
Oh! never fairer did approve

A lover's praise or poet's rhyme !
I've heard of England's beauties rare,
Of noble blood and lofty birth—
But give me still our own bright fair,
Ennobled by their peerless worth!

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The girls we love! The girls we love!
Then fill, and drink the sparkling toast—
The girls we love!—all girls above,

Our fondest pride, our brightest boast!

The girls we love! The girls we love!
The bright-eyed daughters of the West!
The girls we love!-Oh! who would rove,
When by such girls our homes are bless'd?

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Then tell me not of houries bright,

With dazzling eyes and raven curls;
No fairer ever met the sight

Than those we love-OUR WESTERN GIRLS!
The girls we love! The girls we love!
Fill high and drink the sparkling toast-
The girls we love!—all girls above,
Our dearest pride, our fairest boast!

A BRACE OF EPIGRAMS,

On an ill-natured person, who boasted that he never lost his temper.

B. says that, howsoever crossed,

He never yet his temper lost;

For one I can't but choose

Believe the man says what is true-
The reason's quite apparent too-
He has it not to lose!

B. for his motto takes eadem semper,
And boasts he never yet was out of temper;

It may be so, but 'tis beyond a doubt-
So little has he left-he'll soon be out!

THE UNSPOKEN BETROTHAL.

"The moon shines bright:-In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise; in such a night
Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand,

Upon the wild sea banks, and waved her love
To come again to Carthage."

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

"Then were they silent:-Words are little aid
To Love, whose deepest vows are ever made
By the heart's beat alone! Oh! silence is
Love's own peculiar eloquence of bliss!"

L. E. L.

It was a bright and cloudless Summer eve,—

Heaven's pearly gems were strewn full thick and fair O'er a blue sky, you might almost believe

Was softly melting into liquid air—

A lambent ether, "beautifully blue,"

Pure as young Morn's first flower-bespangling dew!

'Twas one of those bewitching nights that seem
Made but for love; and on the balmy air
Floated low murmurings that you might deem
Sweet spirit-voices softly whispering there,
As, in that calm eve's holy solitude,

A thousand fays their blushing partners woo'd.

'Twas such a night as poets' ever love;

Such too as love-sick rhymesters choose their eyes "In a fine frenzy rolling"-forth to rove

And vent their souls in moonstruck rhapsodies: (Moonshine and love, you may depend upon it, Have given birth to many a moonstruck sonnet!)

It was, I say, " on such a night" as this, "on

That once two gentle lovers wandered forth, Whose hearts were all attuned unto the bliss

A night so fair and lovely might give birth; (For love, like moonshine-since they go togetherIs pleasanter by far in pleasant weather!)

"And both were young, and one was” passing fair; And each, beloved, of love made fond return;

Though he had never ventured to declare

As yet, that love, in "words that breathe and burn;" But stood he now resolved, that this fair night Should either "make him or undo him quite !"

THE UNSPOKEN BETROTHAL.

O'er gentle hill and flowery vale they strayed;
With converse sweet the moments they beguile
Yet not to speak of LOVE had he essayed,

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Though in his thoughts 'twas uppermost the while; Thoughts with, par excellence," the question" rife, That Herculean labour of man's life!

For, somehow of his speech he seemed debarred,
When to give utterance to his love he tried;
I'm sure I know not why he found it hard,
So gentle was the being at his side-

All angel as she was-I greatly doubt
Her taking offence if he had spoken out!

Fain had he told his love, but words came none;
So, finding speech was not at his command,
He did the next best thing that could be done-

That is, within his own her fair, soft hand
He took! She blushed, but yet withdrew it not;
Perhaps she-but no matter what she thought!

'Tis a sweet thing to clasp the hand of her You love !—I've tried it-Reader, did you ever?

'Tis next to kissing it, I do aver,—

Nay then, I pity you if you have never !—— And that's the sweetest thing I ever tried

Save kissing lips-but then they're near allied!