MARY'S GRAVE.

In a quiet country churchyard
From the city far away,
Where no marble stands in mockery
Above the mould'ring clay;
Where rears no sculptured monument--
There grass and flowers wave
'Round a spot where mem'ry lingers--
My once-loved Mary's grave.

They laid her down to slumber
In this lonely quiet spot,
They raised no stone above her,
No epitaph they wrote;
They pressed the fresh mould o'er her
As earth to earth they gave--
Their hearts with anguish bursting,
They turned from Mary's grave.

She knew not much of grief or care
Ere yet by Death's cold hand,
Her soul was snatched from earth away
To join the spirit band:
Her mild blue eye hath lost its gleam,
No more her sufferings crave
The hand of pity, but the tear
Falls oft o'er Mary's grave.

I too would pay my tribute there,
I who have loved her well.
And drop one silent, sorrowing tear
This storm of grief to quell;
'Tis all the hope I dare indulge,
'Tis all the boon I crave,
To pay the tribute of a tear,
Loved Mary, o'er thy grave.

TO ANSELMO.

Anselmo was the nom de plume of David Scott, of James.

I know thee not, and yet I fain
Would call thee brother, friend;
I know that friendship, virtue, truth,
All in thy nature blend.

I know by thee the formal bow,
The half deceitful smile
Are valued not; they ill become
The man that's free from guile.

I know thee not, and yet my breast
Thrills ever at thy song,
And bleeds to know, that thou hast felt
The weight of "woe and wrong."

'Tis said the soul with care opprest
Grows patient 'neath the weight,
And after years can bear it well
E'en though the load be great.

And, that the heart oft stung by grief
Is senseless to the pain,
And bleeding bares it to the barb,
To bid it strike again.

I care not if the heart has borne
All that the world can give,
Of "disappointment, hate and scorn;"
In hope 'twill ever live,

And feel the barb'd and poison'd stings
Of anguish, grief and care,
As keenly as in years gone by,
When first they entered there.

The weary soul by care opprest
May utter no complaints,
But loaths the weight it cannot bear
And weakens till it faints.

FLOWERS.

Bring flowers for the youthful throng,
Of variegated glow,
And twine of them a gaudy wreath
Around each childish brow.

Bring flowers for the maiden gay,
Bring flowers rich and rare,
And weave the buds of br