Those tender links of long ago
Are round my heart entwined,
And dear I hold those days of old,
When you were true and kind.

I'd a Dream.

I'd a dream last night of my boyhood's days,
And the scenes where my youth was spent;
And I roamed the old woods where the squirrel plays,
Full of frolicsome merriment.
And I walked by the brook, and its silvery tone,
Seemed to soothe me again as of yore;
And I stood by the cottage with moss overgrown
And the woodbine that trailed round the door.

No change could I see in the garden plot,
The flowers bloomed brightly around,
And one little bed of forget-me-not
In its own little corner I found.
The sky had a home-look, the breeze seemed to sigh,
In the strain I remembered so well,
And the little brown sparrows looked cunning and shy,
As though anxious some story to tell.

But as quietness reigned and a loneliness fell,
O'er the place that had once been so gay;
Its sunlight had saddened since I bade farewell,
And left it for lands far away.
The door stood ajar and I sought for a face,
Of the dear ones I longed so to see;
But others I knew not were now in the place,
And their presence was painful to me.

A pang of remorse seemed to shoot through my heart,
As I left with a sorrowing tread,
From all the familiar objects to part;
For I knew that the loved ones were dead.
The home once my own, now knows me no more,
The treasures that bound me all gone,
And I woke with cheeks tear-stained, and heart sadly sore,
To find that a home I had none.

To my Harp.

Wake up my harp! thy strings begin to rust!
Has the soul fled that once within thee dwelt?
Idle so long, shake off that coat of dust!
Are there no souls to cheer, no hearts to melt?
Are there no victims under tyrants' yoke,
Whose wrongs thy stirring music should proclaim?
Or have the fetters of mankind been broke?
Or are there none deserving songs of fame?

Awake! awake! thy slumber has been long!
And let thy chords once more arouse the heart;
And teach us in thy most impassioned song,
How in our sphere we best may play our part.
Tell the down-trodden, who with daily toil,
Wear out their lives, another's greed to fill;
That they have rights and interests in the soil,
And they can win them if they have the will.

Tell the high-born that chance of birth ne'er gave
To them a right to carve another's fate;
Nor yet to make t