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A WORLD WITHOUT WATER.
Yesternight I pray'd aloud,
In anguish and in agony ;
I HAD a dream in the dead of night,
A dream of agony;
Of an unclouded sky;
And that all the springs were dry:
And I was standing on a hill,
And looking all around:
Strength in my limbs was found,
My destinies were bound.
Beneath me was a far-spread heath,
Where once had risen a spring,
In its graceful wandering:
And the glare of the dark-blue sky,
In light waves wandering by.
And farther on was a stately wood,
With its tall trees rising high,
Beneath a summer sky:
For ages : he was gone; and all
His rocky pillows shown, With their clustering shells, and sea-weed pall,
And the rich gems round them thrown. And the monsters of the deep lay dead,
With many a human form, That there had found a quiet bed
Away from the raging storm ; And the fishes, sodden in the sun,
Were strewn by thousands round; And a myriad things, long lost and won,
Were there, unsought for, found.
And look'd on the burning sky,
The founts of heaven were dry :
Not a cloud was in the air,
He look'd so lonely there!
The agony of thirst :
As if my heart would burst.
The spell that instant broke;
Miss M. A. BROWNE.
FLOWER of light! forget thy birth,
While thy graceful buds unfold
ADDRESS TO A PRIMROSE.
FLOWER! thou art not the same to me
That thou wert long ago;
Or from my heart the glow-
When all the world was new,
Its sweet, fresh fragrance threw; Thou art not what I thought thee then Nor ever wilt thou be again.
It was a thing of wild delight,
To find thee on the bank,
The golden sunlight drank-
That clustering grew together, And seem'd too delicate for aught
Save summer's brightest weather,
My heart to love thee so;
Were dear, long, long ago,
No wild-flower on the lea,
I loved so much as thee;
Without one joyful thrill;
My heart is calm and still :
Has faded from my sight,
Brought unto me a blight, 'Tis fitting thou should'st sadder seem, Since Leila perish'd like a dream.
ETTY'S ROVER. Thou lovely and thou happy child, Ah, how I
envy thee! I should be glad to change our state,
If such a change might be.
And yet it is a lingering joy
To watch a thing so fair,
Such pleasant moments are
A little monarch thou art there,
And of a fairy realm, Without a foe to overthrow,
A care to overwhelm.
Thy world is in thy own glad will,
Ånd in each fresh delight, And in thy unused heart, which makes Its
own, its golden light With no misgivings in thy past,
Thy fulure with no fear:
An angel's atmosphere.
That will content a child-
A blossom growing wild.
A word will fill the little heart
With pleasure and with pride; It is a harsh, a cruel thing,
That such can be denied.
And yét how many weary hours
Those joyous creatures know; How much of sorrow and restraint
They to their elders owe!
How much they suffer from our faults:
How much from our mistakes; How often, too, mistaken zeal
An infant's misery makes!