THE GREY HAIR.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

I.

COME, let me pluck that silver hair
Which 'mid thy clustering curls I see :

The withering type of Time or Care
Hath nothing, sure, to do with thee.

II.

Years have not yet impaired the grace

That charmed me once, that chains me now;

And Envy's self, love, cannot trace

One wrinkle on thy placid brow.

III.

Thy features have not lost the bloom

That brightened them when first we met:

No:-rays of softest light illume

Thy unambitious beauty yet.

IV.

And if the passing clouds of Care
Have cast their shadows o'er thy face,
They have but left, triumphant, there
A holier charm-more witching grace.

V.

And if thy voice hath sunk a tone,'
And sounds more sadly than of yore,

It hath a sweetness, all its own,

Methinks I never marked before.

VI.

Thus, young and fair, and happy too-
If bliss indeed may here be won-
In spite of all that Care can do ;

In spite of all that Time hath done;

VII.

Is

yon white hair a boon of love,

To thee in mildest mercy given?

A sign, a token from above,

To lead thy thoughts from earth to heaven?

VIII.

To speak to thee of life's decay;
Of beauty hastening to the tomb;
Of hopes that cannot fade away;
Of joys that never lose their bloom?

IX.

Or springs the line of timeless snow
With those dark, glossy locks entwined,
'Mid Youth's and Beauty's morning glow,
To emblem thy maturer mind?—

X.

It does-it does:-then let it stay;

Even Wisdom's self were welcome now; Who'd wish her soberer tints away,

When thus they beam from Beauty's brow?

THE BETTER LAND.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

I.

"I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore ?Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?-Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle-boughs ?" "Not there, not there, my child!”

II.

"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,

And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?-
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"

-"Not there, not there, my child?”

III.

"Is it far away, in some region old,

Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?—
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,

And the diamond lights up the secret mine,

And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strandIs it there, sweet mother, that better land?"

-"Not there, not there, my child!

IV.

Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
-It is there, it is there, my child!"