THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.
A DREAM OF PONCE DE LEON.

A STORY of Ponce de Leon,
A voyager withered and old,
Who came to the sunny Antilles,
In quest of a country of gold.
He was wafted past islands of spices,
As bright as the emerald seas,
Where all the forests seem singing,

So thick were the birds on the trees; The sea was clear as the azure,

And so deep and so pure was the sky That the jasper-walled city seemed shining

Just out of the reach of the eye.

The dolphins more rare in the sea. Away from the shady Bahamas,

Over waters no sailor had seen, Till again on his wandering vision, Rose clustering islands of green. Still onward he sped till the breezes Were laden with odors, and lo! A country embedded with flowers,

A country with rivers aglow! More bright than the sunny Antilles, More fair than the shady Azores. "Thank the Lord!" said De Leon, the sailor,

As feasted his eye on the shores, "We have come to a region, my brothers,

More lovely than earth, of a truth; And here is the life-giving fountain, The beautiful Fountain of Youth."

Then landed De Leon, the sailor,

Unfurled his old banner, and sung, But he felt very wrinkled and withered,

All around was so fresh and so

young.

The palms, ever verdant, were blooming,

Their blossoms e'en margined the

seas;

O'er the streams of the forests bright flowers

Hung deep from the branches of

trees.

"Praise the Lord!" sang De Leon, the sailor;

His heart was with rapture aflame; And he said: "Be the name of this region

By Florida given to fame. 'T is a fair, a delectable country,

More lovely than earth, of a truth; I soon shall partake of the fountain,

The beautiful Fountain of Youth!"

But wandered De Leon, the sailor,

In search of the fountain in vain; No waters were there to restore him To freshness and beauty again. And his anchor he lifted, and murmured,

As the tears gathered fast in his eye, "I must leave this fair land of the flowers,

Go back o'er the ocean, and die." Then back by the dreary Tortugas,

And back by the shady Azores, He was borne on the storm-smitten waters

To the calm of his own native shores.

And that he grew older and older,

His footsteps enfeebled gave proof, Still he thirsted in dreams for the fountain,

The beautiful Fountain of Youth.

One day the old sailor lay dying

On the shores of a tropical isle, And his heart was enkindled with rapture; [smile. And his face lighted up with a

And a firm vill, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry

Its own concentered recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy, And making death a victory!

WHEN COLDNESS

Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thoughts
shall fly;

A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS.

SUFFERING CLAY.

WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?

It cannot die, it cannot stray, But leaves its darkened dust behind.

Then, unembodied, doth it trace
By steps each planet's heavenly
way ?

Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?

Eternal, boundless, undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth, or skies displayed, Shall it survey, shall it recall: Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all that was, at once appears.

How like art thou to joy remembered

FARE thee well! and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well; Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee,

Which thou ne'er canst know again:

Would that breast, by thee glanced over,

Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so.

Through the world for this commend thee

Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe: