English

Ah ! Nature can reproach as well as soothe,
To her may Virtue from the world repair
For health and consolation; nor in vain.
For in her youth perpetually renewed,
Procession calm, and unsuspended life —
Is symbolised the tranquil might of Love,
And Truth's serene immutability.
Thus, still, by holier minds the type is hailed
As earnest of Ahuman altitude,
Hereafter to be won. But idly here
Shall vexed Ambition or worn Avarice court
Repose and vigour. In their order due
The plains resume their verdure, and the hills

FICTION ! Poetry
Lives but by truth. Truth is its heart. Bards write
The life of soul — the only life. Each line
Breathes life — or nothing. Fiction! Who narrates
The stature of a man, his gait, his dress,
The colour of his hair, what meats he loved,
Where he abode, what were his favourite haunts
His place and time of birth, his age at death,
And how much crape and cambric mourned his end —
Writes a biography ! But who records
The yearnings of the heart, its joys, and pangs,
Its alternating apathy, and hope,

EACH Philosophy
Is centered in the being of the Sage —
Or Fool, mayhap — terms are indifferent.
A general error oft is private truth;
What's falsehood here, is there veracity;
The right hand's nothing is the left hand's all!
For natures as they limit, or expand,
Determine faith or doubt, — ourselves the bound
To our own fate. That Caterpillar's bliss
Is in luxuriant idleness to crawl
O'er the sweet leaves of roses, wondering
Why yonder Bee should wear his wings with toil
Touring from flower to flower. Perchance the Bee

O GLORIOUS thought, not with the frame's decay
The life and office of man's spirit ends;
Its inspiration dwells enshrined in act.
A Statue's silence is the Sculptor's voice.
The Painter's immortality resides
In his own forms, and objects. Attitude,
Expression, light, and shade, the tint so fine
It half eludes the eye, — for Earth retain,
In Death's despite, his soul! — And he around
Whose pathway lingered haunting harmonies —
Spirits of Beauty tenanting a sound, —
Lives in his record of their ministry!

Oh ! speech is poor to paint a difference
I feel so vast! Trust, honour, tenderness —
The all that friendship asks — compose not love!
Friendship still keeps distinction. Friends are twain,
But lovers one!
Friends are two kings in dear confederance join'd,
That still rule separate empires; but in love
Both realms united, take one name, one tongue,
One law, one faith, one consequence, one crown!
Friends are two banks a kindly stream divides;
Lovers — twin clouds into each other blent

FLORENCE DELMAR, UNDER A FICTITIOUS NARRATIVE, TAXES HER SUITOR WITH HIS ESTRANGED AFFECTION .

Tem. What moves you thus?
Flo. That which I read. And yet,
'Tis a stale sorrow; but a woman's wrong.
Tem. You give these moods of sentiment, these dreams
Of fancy too much sway. I pray you, Florence,
Follow example and conform your course
To custom, and the fashion of the times.
What air-spun grief o'erwrought you?
Flo. I have said,

LAURA HALLERTON, A WOMAN OF FASHION, STRIVES TO WIN THE AFFECTIONS OF TEMPLE FROM FLORENCE DELMAR .

Tem. I cannot bar her image from my thought.
Here too has art shaped in her costlier mould,
The vision of the Carthaginian Queen.
O stone! Thou hast more life than breathing forms,
Save her thou copiest. What sorcery
Masters my will and conscience? In this frame
Two lives are struggling. Now the syren's strain
Allures me unresisting, and anon,
Between its pauses, glides a purer sound,

It was deep night, and over Jerusalem's low roofs
The moon floated, drifting through high vaporous woofs.
The moonlight crept and glistened silent, solemn, sweet,
Over dome and column, up empty, endless street;
In the closed, scented gardens the rose loosed from the stem
Her white showery petals; none regarded them;
The starry thicket breathed odours to the sentinel palm;
Silence possessed the city like a soul possessed by calm.

Not a spark in the warren under the giant night,

XI.

" Yet bitter days, methinks, have earned
A right to pluck with tears,
The flower that my rugged way
With God's own promise cheers;
And I will live one hour with thee,
To soothe my coming years.

XII.

" And if there be a future home,
As saintly hearts believe,
Where kindred souls with Freedom crowned,
Earth's destinies retrieve,
By the delight that fills us now,

I.

I N Life's divine and wondrous song,
Youth's invocation swells
To Manhood's warfare fierce and vain,
Which Age serenely tells;
Yet blissful moments intervene.
Where Eden's glory dwells.

II.

And these the bard should ever strive,
By numbers sweet and terse,
To consecrate for other souls
In his melodious verse;
Then list, while I, with humble zeal,