IX.

-Wild wish, and longing vain,

And brief upspringing to be glad and free!

Go to thy woodland reign!

My soul is bound and held—I may not flee.

X.

For even by all the fears

And thoughts that haunt my dreams-untold,

unknown,

And by the woman's tears

Poured from mine eyes in silence and alone;

XI.

Had I thy wings, thou Dove!

High 'midst the gorgeous isles of cloud to soar,

Soon the strong cords of love

Would draw me earthwards-homewards-yet once

more !

THE SHADOW.

BY JOHN MALCOLM, ESQ.

UPON yon dial-stone

I.

Behold the shade of Time, For ever circling on and on,

In silence more sublime

Than if the thunders of the spheres

Pealed forth its march to mortal ears.

II.

It metes us hour by hour,

Doles out our little span,

Reveals a Presence and a Power
Felt and confessed by man ;-
The drop of moments, day by day,
That rocks of ages wear away.

F

III.

Wov'n by a hand unseen,

Upon that stone survey
A robe of dark sepulchral green,
The mantle of decay,-

The fold of chill Oblivion's pall,

That falleth with yon shadow's fall.

IV.

Day is the time for toil;

Night balms the weary breast;

Stars have their vigils, seas awhile
Will sink to peaceful rest:

But round and round the shadow creeps
Of that which slumbers not-nor sleeps!

V.

Effacing all that's fair,

Hushing the voice of mirth Into the silence of despair

Around the lonesome hearth,

And training ivy garlands green

O'er the once gay and social scene.

VI.

In beauty fading fast,

Its silent trace appears,-

And-where, a phantom of the past
Dim in the mists of years,-
Gleams Tadmor o'er Oblivion's waves,
Like wrecks above their ocean graves—

VII.

Before the ceaseless shade

That round the world doth sail

Its towers and temples bow the headThe pyramids look pale:

The festal halls grow hushed and cold,

The everlasting hills wax old.

VIII.

Coeval with the sun

Its silent course began―

And still its phantom race shall run,

Till worlds with age grow wan;— Till Darkness spread her funeral pall, And one vast shadow circle all.

BALLAD.

I.

SHE is singing like a bird

In its leafy bower,

For her inmost heart is stirred

By affection's power.

II.

By that passion-worded scroll
From beyond the sea;
Gladness on her glowing soul
Pours tumultuously.

III.

Oh the sorrow!-for the heart

Which inspired that strain, Never more may bear a part In her joy or pain.

IV.

Other melodies are sung

By her lover's bed,

Strange words in the stranger's tongue,

Chaunting for the dead.

W. H.