Why heed they not the roses ?

Why list they not the birds?
Why, as the maid reposes,

Do naught but honied words
Attract her soft attention,
Bedew her eyes with tears,
As, through the veiléd future,
She thinks on coming years?

A fuller, sweeter music

Falls gently on her ears,

Her heart beats quick with gladness, As love's own voice she hears,

To think what deep affection

Will henceforth be her own; What passionate devotion

Is breathed in each low tone!

No passing doubt, no shadow
Falls on her trusting heart;
He has vow'd to love HER only,
Till life itself depart;
And timidly, yet fondly,

She meets his speaking gaze:-
Oh! colour'd like the rainbow,
Were those enamour'd days.

Again, it is an evening

For promises of love; Again, the azure heavens

Smile cloudlessly above;

'Mid their blue depths the sky-lark

Sings blithely, as of yore,

And the rose's graceful beauty

Is fragrant as before.

Again, the sun-light's brightness

Grows dim on wood and stream, And the flush of summer-glory Fades like a parting dream; Again, the dewy moisture

Each drooping flower-cup fills, And the richest breath of fragrance From jasmine-stars distils.

S. S.-VOL. III.

ENAMOURED DAYS.

And again the lovely lady

Rests on the rustic seat;

The wild bees' hum is round her,
The tame bird at her feet.
The shades of night-fall deepen
On fount and mossy stone;
The pale stars faintly glimmer,
She lingers there-alone !

But, oh! how changed, how faded,
Is the beauty of past years!
Her cheek wears marble whiteness,
And though no streaming tears
Bedim her blue eyes' lustre,

Yet all their light has fled;
Like the fallen leaves of autumn,
Her hopes are strewn and dead.

He whom she fondly trusted
Proved faithless as the wind;

Of all her golden visions

Not a gleam is left behind.
She turns in silent sadness

From every joyous scene;
She cannot lose the memory

Of bright hours that have been.

Yet cease to mourn, sweet maiden,
Lament and sigh no more;

Thy lonely sorrow cannot

The buried Past restore.

Lift up thy gentle spirit

Earth's fleeting joys above;

And peace shall re-awaken
In a higher, holier love.

Think of the pearly city,

Where every woe shall cease;
All earthly cares and sorrow,
Exchanged for endless peace.
Once there, in rapturous gladness
Shall countless ages roll;

And not a shade of sadness

Again pass o'er thy soul.

2 G

117

Look up, then, tearful maiden!

Time's years are flitting fast,
All present joy or sorrow

Will soon be overpast.
Raise up thy prostrate spirit,

Look cheerfully above;

Waiting till thou inherit

A changeless life of love.

HIGH-STREET, BELFAST.

FEW counties offer to the tourist in Ireland so many objects of interest as he may find in the county of Antrim. The two natural curiosities, par excellence, which distinguish this generally fertile district, are the magnificent Lough Neagh, with its petrifying waters; a sheet of water, which, with the exception of the lakes of Ladoga, Onega, and Geneva, is the largest in Europe; and the widely-celebrated Giant's Causeway, with its marvellous basaltic pillars, to be reckoned by hundreds of thousands.

With "The Giant's Causeway," however, Belfast has no immediate connection; but over the beauty of Lough Neagh, which has, in fact, been rendered, by commercial skill and enterprise, subservient to the prosperity of that thriving sea-port, we may be permitted to linger for a moment :—

"The Lake its holiday-attire has on;
Repose and pleasantness its bosom share;
And ev'ry finely-shaded tint is there,

In each gradation, from the deepening red,
To the pale languor, on the bush-rose spread:
While, flowing far and free round many an isle,

The waters wear one universal smile!

No sound of sorrow ventures to intrude

On the rapt ear of listening Quietude.

The weary wind has laid him down to rest,

And all is peaceful as an angel's breast.

"From countless kelp-kilns, shining round the shore,
Abroad in the clear void the smoke-wreaths soar;
Wavering as if they wist not where to go;

And still, like trees, outspreading as they grow,

Till their blue columns gain the upper air

And presently are lost in splendour there.

O'er the tranced wave what rapid changes roll,

And charm with rare variety the soul!
Here pale as ivory, there of rosy hue,

Traversed between with wandering veins of blue