Oh, what is Beauty's power?

It flourishes and dies;

Will the cold earth its silence break,

To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek

Beneath its surface lies?

Mute, mute is all

O'er Beauty's fall;

Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall.

The most belov'd on earth

Not long survives to-day;

So music past is obsolete,

And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet,
But now 'tis gone away.

Thus does the shade

In memory fade,

When in forsaken tomb the form belov'd is laid.

Then, since this world is vain,

And volatile, and fleet,

Why should I lay up earthly joys

Where rust corrupts, and moth destroys,

And cares and sorrows eat?

Why fly from ill

With cautious skill,

When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still?

Come, Disappointment, come!

Thou art not stern to me;

Sad monitress! I own thy sway,

A votary sad in early day,

I bend my knee to thee.

From sun to sun

My race will run;

I only bow, and say, My God, Thy will be done!

ALLSTON.

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

ALL hail! thou noble land,

Our Fathers' native soil!
O, stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,

O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore!
For thou with magic might
Canst reach to where the light
Of Phoebus travels bright

The world o'er!

The Genius of our clime,

From his pine-embattled steep,
Shall hail the guest sublime;

While the Tritons of the deep

With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim.
Then let the world combine,-

O'er the main our naval line
Like the milky-way shall shine
Bright in fame!

Though ages long have past

Since our Fathers left their home,

Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins!

And shall we not proclaim

That blood of honest fame

Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?

While the language free and bold
Which the Bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;-
While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,

From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,—
Between let Ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the Sun:
Yet still from either beach

The voice of blood shall reach,

More audible than speech,

"We are One."

ROSALIE.

66

"O POUR upon my soul again

That sad, unearthly strain,

That seems from other worlds to plain;
Thus falling, falling from afar,

As if some melancholy star

Had mingled with her light her sighs,
And dropped them from the skies!

"No,-never came from aught below
This melody of woe,

That makes my heart to overflow,

As from a thousand gushing springs,
Unknown before; that with it brings
This nameless light,-if light it be,-
That veils the world I see.

"For all I see around me wears

The hue of other spheres;

And something blent of smiles and tears
Comes from the very air I breathe.
O, nothing, sure, the stars beneath
Can mould a sadness like to this,-
So like angelic bliss."

So, at that dreamy hour of day
When the last lingering ray
Stops on the highest cloud to play,-
So thought the gentle Rosalie,

As on her maiden reverie

First fell the strain of him who stole

In music to her soul.

A FRAGMENT.

WISE is the face of Nature unto him
Whose heart, amid the business and the cares,
The cunning and bad passions, of the world,
Still keeps its freshness, and can look upon her
As when she breathed upon his schoolboy face
Her morning breath, from o'er the dewy beds
Of infant violets waking to the sun;-
When the young spirit, only recipient,

So drank in her beauties, that his heart

Would reel within him, joining jubilant

The dance of brooks and waving woods and flowers.

HUSBAND and wife! No converse now ye hold, As once ye did in your young days of love,