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422 LOUISA S. M'CORD.

'TIS BUT THEE, LOVE, ONLY THEE.

WHERE the sunbeam glanceth brightest,
There, my love, I think of thee.
Where the summer breeze is lightest,
Stoll of thee, and only thee.
Where the gently murmuring stream
Lulls to soft and placid dream,
Who for ever lingers near me?
Who but thee, love? only thee!

And in fear, or dark misgiving,
Hover round with evening's gloom,
Fancy's tissues darkly weaving,
Tracing sorrows yet to come;
Still, one shadow lingering near,
Even scenes like these are dear.
Who the angel hovering near me?
Who but thee, love? only thee!

Thus in hope, and thus in sorrow,
Fancy paints thy shadow near,
Thou the brighter of each morrow,
Thou the soother of each care.
And the sun which gives me light,
And the star which gilds my night,
And the lingering hope to cheer me,
'Tis but thee, love! only thee!

M. C. CANFIELD.

Mrs. M. C. CANFIELD, formerly Miss Hulme, is a native of Burlington, New Jersey, but now resides in Ohio. She has published a number of useful little books for the young; and has, for some years past, contributed to the Episcopal Recorder, and other periodicals. Her poetical effusions, which are written with ease and spirit, and marked by pure and elevated feeling, have been mostly of a local or personal character, and have appeared anonymously, or under the signature "C."

THE ELECTOR OF SAXONY AT AUGSBURG*

THE first faint light of early day
Rested on vale and hill,
Touch'd the old towers and turrets gray,
But Augsburg slumber'd still.
Its silent streets gave no sound,
Save some lone passer's tread,
Some peasant to his labour bound,
SOme watcher o'er the dead.
Courtier and prince in deep repose
Forgot each toil and care, 
The voice of early prayer.
His princely robes aside were thrown,
His sword unsheathèd lay, 
Where an old warrior bent him down
In solitude to pray. 
The long, thin locks of hoary years
Hung round his noble brow,
WHile from his aged eyes the tears
Fell all unheeded now.

*D'Aubigné's History of the Reformation.—Vol. iv.
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