ome so cheery.

THE MIGHTY ONE.

You have felt his power--you have felt his power--
For a mighty one is he:
He is found in the field and is known in the bower
And hid in the cup of the tenderest flower,
He lurks where you may not see.

He's a sleepless sprite, and at dead of night
He'll come with his feathery tread,
And dally with fancy, and play with your dreams,
And light up your vision with silver beams,
Though he leaves you an aching head.

Away, and away, like a thought, he flies,
His home in the air and sea;
Of all that is earth he claims a birth,
And he speaks in the wind, and his voice goes forth
On the breeze's back, unceasingly.

In the sea's great deeps, where the mermaid sleeps,
In chambers of coral and gold--
Where the Sirocco sweeps and Loneliness weeps
O'er temples all silent, where dark ivy creeps,
And places that never were told--

He is everywhere, and very well known
In palace, in court, and cot;
Though ages have crumbled, and centuries flown,
He is youthful and strong, and is still on his throne,
And his chains are spells of thought.

The maiden has murmured in 'plaint so low,
While the tear trickled over a smile,
That scarcely a wo could be uttered, till "no,"
Was the heart's quick response, "I would not have him go--
The 'Annoyer' may linger awhile."

He shadows the pages of classic lore
In the student's loneliest hour,
And wakes up a thought that had slept before--
An image is born that can die no more--
The student feels his power.

A voice on the hill-top, a voice in the river,
A voice in the song of birds;
It hangs on the zephyr, it comes from the quiver
Of oak, beech and fir-leaf--it speaketh forever
In thrilling, mysterious words;

'Tis the voice of the strong one! Know ye well,
His presence you may not shun;
For he thrones in the heart, and he rules with a spell,
And poets may sing us and sages may tell
That Love is a mighty one!

THE SURVIVING THOUGHT.

How long, ah me! this weary heart hath striven
With vanity, and with a wild desire!
How long, and yet how long, must this frail bark be driven,
While these unsteady, fitful hope-lights given,
One after one expire?

These earthly visions prove, alas! unstable;
And we are all too prone to clutch them fast,
Though false, aye, falser than the veriest fable,
To which a "thread of gossamer is cable--"
They cannot--cannot last!

Our eye must soon behold the appal