THE BOWER OF THE DEPARTED.

I STOOD beside her jasmine bower,

As o'er it fell the cold moon's ray,
And felt once more the magic power

Of spells that should have passed away ;—
Of magic spells that o'er me came,
Beneath her once approving eye;
And yet the bower was still the same
As once in happier days gone by.

Yet not the same-for other hands

Since then had culled the scented flower,
And there had gathered merry bands,
And careless hearts, at evening's hour.
The turf, that once she lightly trod,
By other feet is trodden now;
Yet memory claims that sainted sod,
The scene of many a whispered vow.

The poet's page, that once she loved,
The very lines she loved to hear,
Stood where they wont, yet unremoved,
To passion and to memory dear.
A withered rose, that once was fair,
While blooming by the lost one's side,
Beside the book lay lonely there-

It withered when the loved one died.

Her lute hangs still among the leaves,

As once it hung-yet where is she?
Since she is gone, methinks it grieves
Profaned by other hands to be.
I struck the chord-so sad in tone,
It answered to the silent hour,
That, mourning o'er the minstrel gone,
With tears I left her jasmine bower.

C. H. H.

ROSE LEAVES.

SWEET, sweet is the Rose in her beauty; with the modest charms of the half-opened Rose-bud, what flower shall venture to contend?

Around its bed of honey were arranged in graceful form the hundred leaflets of a new-blown rose: Dewdrops kissed their

welcome to the sunlit earth, and the cool breeze of a summer morning played gaily around the flower it loved, and shook it, with sportive violence, as it stole its scents away, renewed but to be once more stolen.

A merry thief is the summer's breeze, and not from that rose alone came the treasures it had stolen. Perfume was on its wing from violet beds, and golden dust from the fragrant honeysuckle; from all sweet things had it enforced a tribute; and, borne from some distant blossom, came sporting in merry flight upon its breath, a single rose leaf.

And the leaflets of the new-blown Rose, when they saw the happiness of their sister, grew aweary of restraint. "How cruel is our lot," they murmured; "doomed to remain ever in the selfsame spot; bound to this honey bed, we feel no delight but what the fickle zephyr brings, and the dewdrop when it falls ! Oh, could we but be free! Could we flutter upon the breeze as our sister there, then might we seek sweets for ourselves: when the storm came over this our irksome resting-place, we might sport elsewhere in the sunlight, and follow still the sweet breath of the gale; we might seek for ourselves the clearest dew, and, alas! who can tell what other joys this fair earth may hold,-joys for which yet we have no name, delights that visit us not here!" Thus murmured in envy the unhappy leaflets, and prayed for freedom of each passing breeze. At length their prayer was granted; more violently than in wonted sport was the pretty rosebud shaken, and the leaves flew merrily away, released from their former thraldom. Alas! too late came repentance!

Sad, sad is the withered rose leaf! The traces of its former beauty, how soon are they departed!

Sweet as are the leaflets of the new-blown Rose are the charms LOVE binds together; all the bright qualities that form man's perfection, all the redeeming beauties of the human heart, retain their brightest glory so long only as in Love they find their

centre.

But he who loves not, let him think of the withered rose-leaves; he who hath wilfully broken, or whose fate hath cruelly destroyed, the bond that unites and pours health and vigour into every noble feeling, in his heart how soon will those solaces of earth decay, and leave behind them, like the unhappy rose-leaves, bitterness alone.

HAL.

THE SHIPS OF THOUGHT.

WHENCE are our thoughts?-they come, they go,
We know not whence, nor whereunto;

They bring their freights, and briefly stay;
Or just appear, then sail away.

Like ships upon the horizon's verge,

Vague thoughts! your paths unknown you urge:
A moment seen, while bright the sun
Gleams on your sails, then dimmed and gone.

Or boldly o'er the deeps you come,
And near the land, and hail our home;
Unload your treasures on our strands,
With sounds and songs of far-off lands.

So from our shores in peace ye part,
Sent forth from many a tender heart :
You gaily go, but shall you brave
The dim and distant on the wave?

With all our hopes and all our trust
On board, you leave our land of dust;
Our wishes weak and frail you bear,
And wise intentions light as air.

From fruitless soil and barren clime

Forced up-O spare them, Chance and Time!
And these so few, though poor in store,
May tell our wish that such were more.

You ne'er return; we ne'er shall know,
Till death, the land to which you go;
Then, ferrying o'er that silent main,
We there may find our thoughts again.

INDEX.

The articles marked * are contributions from strangers; the rest are all written by
gentlemen who are, or have been, Students of King's College.