And two of the three laugh louder still,

But the third stares wildly round: He drops the cards, as if his hand Were palsied at the sound!

His cheeks have lost their deepened flush,
His lips are of paler hue,

And fear hath fallen on the heart
Of the youngest of that crew!

His soul is not yet firmly bound
In the fetters of reckless sin!
Depravity hath not yet wrought
Its total work within!

The strong potation of the night
Drowned all that might remain
Of feeling; and his hand shrunk not
While madness fired his brain!

But now the charm hath lost its spell,
The heated fumes have passed;
And banished reason to her throne,
Usurped, advances fast.

He rises

staggers — looks again

Upon the shrouded dead!

A shudder steals upon his frame:

His vaunted strength is fled!

He doubts- he dreams

A mist is o'er his eyes;

- can, can it be?

He stands aghast. · "Oh! what is this?

Where? where?"

-he wildly cries.

"Where am I?

see the altar-piece –

The holy Bible: say

Is this the place where I was brought
A tiny boy to pray?

"The church—the church-yard too - I know I have been there to-night;

For what? Ha! mercy! see that corpse!
Oh, hide me from the light!

"I have been deemed a profligate, A gamester, and a knave,

But ne'er was known to scoff at God

Or violate the grave!

"I've long been what man should not be,

But not what I am now.

Oh help me! help! My tongue is parched! There's fire upon my brow!

"Oh save me! hide me from myself!

I feel my pulses start:

The horror of this drunken crime
Hath fixed upon my heart!

“Again! I feel the rushing blood! the unforgiven!

1 die!

Again, it comes; all—all is dark

I choke -Oh! mercy, Heaven!"

One struggling groan

- he reels - he falls

On the altar-steps he lies;

And the others gasp with fear, for now

Two corpses meet their eyes!

But, hark! swift footsteps echo round:
Encircled now they stand:
Surprised, detected, they are seized
By many a grappling hand.

Arl soon the dreadful tale is spread,

And many a finger raised

To point them out; while the listening one Looks fearfully amazed.

They are shunned by all; the son, the sire,

The heedless and the gay;

Their old associates leave their side,

And turn another way.

Hate, shame, and scorn, have set a mark
Upon them. One by one,

Of all they knew, forsakes their path,
Till they are left alone.

And they have sought another land,
And breathe another clime;

Where men may deem them fellow-men,
Nor hear their blasting crime!

And gossips, in their native town,
Even now are heard to tell

Of the sacrilegious crew that turned
The old church to a hell.

WINTER.

WINTER is coming! who cares? who cares?
Not the wealthy and proud, I trow;
"Let it come," they cry, "what matters to us
How chilly the blast may blow?

"We'll feast and carouse in our lordly halls,
The goblet of wine we'll drain;

We'll mock at the wind with shouts of mirth,
And music's echoing strain.

"Little care we for the biting frost,

While the fire gives forth its blaze;

What to us is the dreary night,

While we dance in the waxlight's rays?"

'Tis thus the rich of the land will talk;
But think! oh, ye pompous great,
That the harrowing storm ye laugh at within
Falls bleak on the poor at your gate!

They have blood in their veins, aye, pure as thine

But naught to quicken its flow;

They have limbs that feel the whistling gale,
And shrink from the driving snow.

Winter is coming-oh! think, ye great,
On the roofless, naked, and old;
Deal with them kindly, as man with man,

And spare them a tithe of your gold!

THOSE WE LOVE.

We leave our own—our father-land,
To lead the wanderer's fearful life-
On stormy seas or desert sand,

In pilgrim peace or busy strife; But there's a hope to save and cheer Through all of danger, toil, and pain; It shines to dry the starting tear, And lights the pathway back again To those we love.

Let others give us gems and gold,

With gems and gold we'd lightly part We take them, but we do not hold The treasures sacred in the heart. Such costly boons may have the power To win our thanks and wake our pride;

But dearer is the withered flower

That has been worn and thrown aside
By those we love.

We pine beneath the regal dome,
We prize not all that's rich and fair;
We cannot rest in princely home,

If those we cherish dwell not there.
But let the spirit choose its lot,

We'd rather take the rover's tent,
Or gladly share the peasant's cot,
And bless the flying moments spent
With those we love.