COME, TOUCH THE HARP!

COME, touch the harp, my gentle one!
And let the notes be sad and low,
Such as may breathe, in every tone,
The soul of long ago!—

That smile of thine is all too bright
For aching hearts and lonely years,
And-dearly as I love its light,—
To-night, I would have tears!

Yet, weep not thus, my gentle girl !
No smile of thine has lost its spell,
By heaven! I love thy lightest curl,
Oh! more than fondly well!—
Then, strike the lyre, and let it wile
All thoughts of grief and gloom away,
While thou art by, with harp and smile,
I will not weep, to-day!

ANACREONTIC.

THE MOON IS UP!

THE MOON is up!—and while the cars
Of night are out, we will not sleep,

Send round the bowl, and show the stars

What vigils earthly spirits keep!

And, if the vines, in yonder sky,

Weep, for their host, such purple tears,

The poet's tale may be no lie,

That paints them 'singing in their spheres'!

Shall we, because hope's fount is dry,

Shun

every fount that woos the soul?— The pang that blights the heart and eye Was never gathered from the bowl!

If eyes be dim, that, once, were bright,
To weep will hardly make them brighter,
And, if our hearts be far from light,

At least, we'll strive to make them lighter!

Fill high the glass !-to-night we'll try,
For once, to make a truce with sorrow,
And they who think it wise to sigh,

May drink to-night, and sigh to-morrow!—
While we, who love the better mood

To gather gladness where we may,
Will hail, across this beaming flood,
The dawning of a happier day!