.

I've ruby and sapphire, blended with gold,
And here's an emerald green,
A parting gift, for my coronet,
From summer's dying queen.

Oh, loveliest month of the year,
Too soon will thy glories depart,
But not the sweet faith thou'st wakened,
Within this worshiping heart.

For though, like all beauty of earth,
Thou'rt trammeled by earthly decay,
Yet my soul is lifted by thine,
To glories that fade not away.

OLD LETTERS.

TO MRS. ANNIE P----.

"Burn my old letters"--ah! for you
These words are easy to say,
For you, who know not the light they brought
To many a darksome day.

And, then, old letters to me are links
To those days forever gone;
For we cling to the past as age would cling
To youth, in its rosy dawn.

But the wintry air is chill without,
And the fire is faint and low,
So I'll gather them up--the page of to-day
With the date of long ago.

Gather them up and cast them in
Like trash, to the greedy flame;
And I marvel not that the world hath said,
"Friendship is only a name!"

For the human heart's a changeful thing,
And sometime we would borrow
The light, that other days have given,
To cheer us on the morrow.

And so, as I sit in the merry light
Of the blaze that upward flashes,
I think, like these, our dearest hopes
May come to dust and ashes.

JUNE ROSES.

What marvelous new-born glory
Is flushing the garden and lawn!
Hath the queen of all blossoming beauty
Come forth with the early dawn?

Like the first faint flush of morn,
To the watchers, aweary with night,--
Like treasures long hidden away,
Ye burst on my joyous sight.

Not e'en the "first rose of Summer,"
Could yesterday be seen--
Only a tint like the sea-shell,
Deep in a prison of green.

Did the lover-like kiss of the south wind,
While wand'ring o'er forest and lake,
Bid thee start in thy slumbering beauty,
And crimson with blushes awake?

'Tis long since the fragrant lilac
Flourished and drooped at thy side,
While many a frail young flow'ret since
Hath quietly blossomed and died.

And for days the pale, proud lily
In regal beauty hath shown,
Catching the sun's warm glances
Ere the young roses had blown.

But perfumed breezes are whispering:
"To-day the roses have come,"
And the cottage will rival the palace,
Decked in thy radiant bloom.

MUSIC.

The spirit is often enraptured
With sweet tokens of love divine,
But seldom i