With steps uncertain, to a jutting rock, To gaze upon the immense abyss I hie; And all my senses feel a horrid shock As down the steep I turn my dizzy eye.
On cloudy steams I take a flight sublime, Leaving the world and nature's works behind; And as the pure empyreal heights I climb, Reflect with rapture on the Immortal Mind.
CANZONET.
BY J. B. VANSCHAICK.
When motes, that dancing In golden wine, To the eyes' glancing Speak while they shine— Then, the draught pouring, Love's fountain free, Mute, but adoring, I drink to thee.
When sleep enchaineth, Sense steals away— Dream, o'er mind reigneth With dark strange sway— One sweet face floateth Sleep's misty sea, Th' unconscious heart doateth On thee—on thee.
THE PENNSYLVANIAN IMMIGRANT.
[From the Backwoodsman.]