THE OLIO.

From hc Lady's Book.

 S'TANZAS.
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From inc Lady's Book.

 STANZAS. You ask me, gentle maiden, For rhyme, as friendships boon, But my spirit is o'er laden, My heart IS out of tune l may not breathe a poets VOW, My music IS name, And 1t seldom breaks its slumber now, For beauty or for fame. ct there are some who still can break Ihe spell that round 1t aciipgs. And gleams of thought, that yet awake Sweet murnurings from the strings; Dut then, with something of its old And long-forgotten art, Dh. there mingle tones that fall as cold Ks midnight on the heart. hung it on a blighted tree In dream-remembered land, Where the waters ripple peacefully Tn their beauty tothe strand Beside my own 1anthe's bower, Where l had traced hsr name, But from that most ill-omen'd hour, 1t never was the same. Yet, though it's gayer notes be flown, My spirit doth rejoice, When deem that visionary tone The echo of her voice For, like the voice of the evening breeze, When the autumn leaf itsstirs, And murmuring music Is on thetrees, Si,: just such voice as hers. Silent and sad, her tomb is there, And my early visions too; Hut her spirit is lingering in the air, E And her tears are in the dew: And the light of her maidenly mournfll

 eyes .Dn her bower hath never set. Tor 1t dweiis in tic stars, and it gleams

 from the skies -On lonely bosom yet.

 CORSETS AND KISSES. youthful poet writes thus feeingly to his mistress in southern paper:-- wish was corset bone,

 That's too tiny lovely breast, That l might be both night and day,

 To thy fair bosom prest.

 wish I was the china cup

 From wbich you drink your tea; For then know at every sip

 You'd give a kiss to me-