? T r Y

Its words
Are few, but deep and solemn, and they break
Fresh from the fount OF feeling Porciucl.

SONG.
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r.


SONG.
Away with the goblet there's death in each bubble,
That sportivey breaks o'er its roseate brim
The deep cankering care and the narrowing trouble
Is his, who essays on its billow to swim.
Like the bright fabed fruit on th' Asphaltned al
blooming,


With fues so alluring that naught can eclipse,
When hastily pucked, to disappointment '6s doom
ing ~ Il
For we find but the ashes and dust on our lips
The far future tecming with beauteous promise,
The thoughts that enthralled sensibiity's chain
BY the hand Of the Tempter is torn rudey from us,
And the all Of lfe's pathway is pregnant with pain.
1t may cheer for time--but like thunder-clouds
flashing


1t heightens the darkness when vanished the glow;
And exalt-but like pillows impetuous dashing,
The struggler is dashed but the deeper below
Degradation's deep sense, with the hearts condemna-
ton,


The worlds keen rcproach, and th estrangcnent OF
friends, r
Are the evils that flow from its fell fascination,
Till the proudest Of hearts in its agony bends.
Then dash down the goblet for radiently sparkling
It fetters the soul in serpent's embrace;
And delirium wild, in its sunny depths darkling,
The mind from the throne Of its glory, win chase.


C. mr.