ANATKH.

THE brook must seek the river,

And the river seek the sea;

The mountain peak must wildly shriek,

As the wind howls mournfully.

The birds must turn their flight

When the leaves have strewn the ground;

The buds must creep from winter sleep,

When they hear the May-wind's sound.

The love-prone heart must throb

When a beauty's face is seen:

For small and great are led by fate -

So I to thee, my queen!

M.