POETRY

From the Cosket. THE HARP OF LOVE.
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BY r. c. IIALLEcK. The harp of love, when first heard It's song beneath the moonlight tree, Was echoed by his piighted word, And oh! how dear it's song to me. But walled the hour will ever be

 When to the air the bugfe gave. To hush love's gentle minstrelsy,

 The wild war music of the brave For he hath heard it's sounds, and now It's voice is sweeter than mine own. And lie hath broke the pIighted VOW He breathed to me and love alone. That harp has lost its wonted tone, No mure its strings his fingers move, o! would that he had only known

 The music of the Harp of Love.