One gentle spirit seeks the tomb,
His brow yet fresh with childhood's bloom:
Another treads the paths of fame,
And barters peace to win a name.
Another still, tempts fortune's wave,
And seeking wealth, secures a grave.
The last, grasps yet the brittle thread:
Though friends are gone and joy is dead--
Still dares the dark and fretful tide,
And clutches at its power and pride--
Till suddenly the waters sever,
And like the leaf, he sinks for ever!




The Bubble Chase.


[Illustration: The Bubble Chase]

Twas morn, and, wending on its way,
Beside my path a stream was playing;
And down its banks, in humor gay,
A thoughtless boy was idly straying.

Light as the breeze they onward flew--
That joyous youth and laughing tide,
And seemed each other's course to woo,
For long they bounded side by side.