GUY WETMORE CARRYL.
_Columbia Spectator._


~Lines on a Ring.~

Oh, precious drop of crystal dew,
Set in a tiny band of gold,
Which doth within its little grasp
A blue-veined finger softly hold--
Thou failest if thy radiant rays
Are seeking--bold attempt 'twould be!--
To show a fraction of the love
That beams from Edith's eyes on me.

LOREN M. LUKE.
_Nassau Literary Monthly_.


~A Memory.~

Shadows up the hillside creeping,
Gold in western sky,
Meadow-brook beneath us keeping
Dreamy lullaby.

Soft stars through the pine-trees gleaming--
Gems in dark robes caught--
Everything about us seeming