Nor bud, nor blossom show that it doth thrive. Oh! sorrow, keen—keen is thine hidden sting; When, too, remorse its silent pang doth give, 'Tis more than woman's nature can such ills survive!

Once did I love-in that delirium

The world forgot-in its flow'ry Eden

I saw but bright and sunny scenes to come! Of clear blue skies and bab'ling streams I then Did dream-glad days pass'd quick but came again With each returning morn--a round of joy! Nor reck'd I of those darkling moments when The Furies in their dread and dire employ, Would hurl their thunderbolts and ruthlessly destroy.

"Tis in the calm and sunshine of the mind
When gliding smoothly o'er life's summer sea,
When billows heave not-hush'd when is the wind,
And onward seems a bright tranquility,

That we deem our course secure. Would that we Could shun the rocks and shoals that lie beneath Our dubious way, we then should happy be. Sudden the storm doth rise with angry breath, Strewing around its spoils, its misery and death!

Where-where art thou, once lov'd but lost for aye, Erst my fond hope, now cau e of so much woe? Doth thy reproving cons'ence towards me strayPicture on grief's wan cheek the hectic glowFancy the plaintive sigh that mur'mring low Escapes thy death-blanch'd lips-or art thou glad In riot's noisy hours of mirth-where flow The tides of laughter-where no eye is sad, Where Pleasure revels in her midnight orgies mad?

In banquet halls, where beauty's smiling sheen
Dazzles the eye, and captivates the heart;

In
gay salons-in joy's bright festive scene,
Mingle doth thou-false, false one as thou art?
But with thy mem'ry I can never part;

The shadows of the past I still revere.

In night's dark noon mine aching head doth start,
The dreamy visions make me think thee near-
I fitful wake, then falls the unseen, burning tear!

When war's loud clar'on fearful rings afar,
And combat nations meet in dread array;
When heavy tramp, and steed, and battle car,
Shake the dread earth o'er glory's crimson way-
On falch'on, spear, and sword, the sunbeams play;
When banners wave, and music's martial strain
Wakes the still echos-and red crowds when they,
Destin'd ere eve to slumber with the slain,
Are full of hope-thou may'st forget-forget me then!
Where thickest flows the sanguinary tide,
And loudest roars the cannon's thund'ring sound;
Where friend and foeman stretch'd out side by side
Cover, in vast, hideous heaps, the ground,
And ghastly Death his havock works around-
When victory's shout exultant rings the sky—
When Honour's chaplet on thy brow is bound,
And Fame proclaims: "There goes a hero by!"
One-one may then be banish'd from thy memory.
Perchance, ere long, some maid more lov'd may share
Thy bosom's tenderness-thine hand may win;
To her, as me, thou may'st thy vows declare-
Tell her thou wilt be what thou ne'er hast been;
But not of faithlessness-desertion's sin.

I will not curse thee-nay, I would not mar
E'en one rosy hour that life may have in
Store to bless thine earthly lot; rather far

My prayer shall rise that God may be thy guiding star!
A time may come when thy pale clammy brow
Throbs with hot fever's restlessness and pain;
A time may come, frail mortal, e'en when thou
Shalt sink in helplessness, and thy poor brain
Doth reel-when Reason half resigns her reign.
Aye, when the everlasting shores appear,

Which those who pass shall ne'er return again,
Casting their shadows as thou drawest near-
Awing the parting soul, and chilling it with fear!

E'en then at midnight's dull and sullen hour, When darkness robes the world, and all is still, Save when o'er dreary wild--through roofless tow'r, The loud wind whistles, and by gusts sighs shrill— Or watch-dog bays the moon on neighbour'ng hill, A spectral vision may with noiseless tread Glide by thy couch; how recollection will Vault back o'er years, to one who died unwed A mother-pillow'd with her babe on Death's cold bed! Words they are vain-my sickly spirit's flame, Like the wan taper flick'ring, waxes low. What soon will be thy falseness, or my shame? The fretted shroud will an oblivion throw O'er broken-heartedness and all my woe. Brief is my time-'tis meet that I essay To seek forgiveness-and I'll ask that thou May'st find the pleasant paths of virtue's way, That where th' eternals are we meet in endless day!

E. A.

The reader may remember the once happy occupants of Ivy Cottage, and will recognize in the assumed Mrs. Allen the unfor

tunate Emily, and in the elderly lady Mrs. Parkins.

They kept the noiseless tenour of their way."

GRAY.

IT hath been remarked by a great writer, that in a narrative of interest the narrator is, or ought, amongst the events and personages of the page, to be readily forgotten. If my gentle readers in their indulgence, will pardon me, I, Heberden Milford, will say that in due course of time my curriculum was finished, and in public ceremonial before a gay concourse of northern metropolitans in the galleries-magisterial authorities, professional dignitaries, and academic functionaries below, the black velvet cap, used from time immemorial as the crowning symbol of