'TWAS eve.

EVENING THOUGHTS.

The lengthening shadows of the oak
And weeping birch, swept far adown the vale;
And nought upon the hush and stillness broke,
Save the light whispering of the spring-tide gale,
At distance dying; and the measured stroke
Of woodmen at their toil; the feeble wail
Of some lone stock-dove, soothing, as it sank
On the lulled ear its melody that drank.

The sun had set; but his expiring beams

Yet lingered in the west, and shed around Beauty and softness o'er the woods and streams, With coming night's first tinge of shade embrowned. The light clouds mingled, brightened with such gleams Of glory, as the seraph-shapes surround,

That in the visions of the good descend,

And o'er their couch of sorrow seem to bend.

There are emotions in that grateful hour
Of twilight and serenity, which steal
Upon the heart with more than wonted power,
Making more pure and tender all we feel,-
Softening its very core, as doth the shower

-We reveal

The thirsty glebe of summer.-
More in such hours of stillness, unto those
We love, than years of passion could disclose.

The heavens look down on us with eyes of love,
And earth itself looks heavenly; the sleep

Of nature is around us, but above

Are beings that eternal vigils keep.

"Tis sweet to dwell on such, and deem they strove With sorrow once, and fled from crowds to weep In loneliness, as we perchance have done;

And sigh to win the glory they have won!

P

'Tis sweet to mark the sky's unruffled blue Fast deepening into darkness, as the rays Of lingering eve die fleetly, and a few

Stars of the brightest beam illume the haze, Like woman's eye of loveliness, seen through The veil that shadows it in vain ;—we gaze In mute and stirless transport, fondly listening, As there were music in its very glistening.

'Tis thus in solitude; but sweeter far

By those we love, in that all-softening hour, To watch with mutual eyes each coming star,

And the faint moon-rays streaming through our bower Of foilage, wreathed and trembling, as the car Of night rolls duskier onward, and each flower And shrub that droops above us, on the sense Seems dropping fragrance more and more intense!

Oh Love! undying and ethereal Love!

Thou habitant of heaven strayed to earth!

Or boon of the Beneficent above

To worlds, that, void of thee, were worlds of dearth! Soft as thy Cytherean mother's dove

As thine own Psyche bright-eyed from thy birth, Poets might feign, or priests of old conceive thee, And heathen maids delightedly believe thee!

Not in the leafy haunts and hushed retreats
Enthusiasts fondly consecrate as thine;
Not where, with smile and sparkle, nature greets
The' adoring gaze, alone is reared thy shrine:-
Lips cling to lips-the full heart fondly beats-

From Ajut's icy regions to the Line—
Roam where we may, thy rapt emotions start,
The bliss to meet !-the agony to part!

J. G. G.

THE NORTHERN STAR.

WRITTEN AT TYNEMOUTH, NORTHUMBERLAND.

"THE Northern Star

Sailed o'er the Bar,

Bound to the Baltic Sea :

In the morning grey

She stretched away—

'Twas a weary day to me.

'And many an hour,

In sleet and shower,

By the light-house rock I stray,

And watch till dark

For the winged bark

Of him that's far away.

"The Church-yard's bound

I wander round,

Among the grassy graves;

But all I hear

Is the North wind drear,

And all I see, the waves!'

Oh roam not there,

Thou mourner fair,

Nor pour the fruitless tear!

Thy plaint of woe

Is all too low

The dead, they cannot hear.

The Northern Star

Is set afar,

Set in the raging sea;

And the billows spread

O'er the sandy bed,

That holds thy love from thee!

Newcastle Courant.

THE INCOGNITA.

WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF AN UNKNOWN

LADY.

UPON her cheek the eye may trace
The lineaments of heavenly grace;
A tender blush of rosy light,

That wins and then detains the sight.
It is not brilliant;-no, nor gay ;-
It is not pleasure's dazzling ray ;—
It does not wildly flash and burn,
Like rich wines in a sparry bowl;
But softly beams and shines, as roll
Sweet waters from a crystal urn.
It makes, albeit he strive, in vain,
The gazer turn to gaze again.
It seems to speak in pensive tone,
Of childhood's happier moments flown;
Of loss of hopes too dearly prized,
Dreams of delight unrealized,
And all the warring fears that wring
A woman's heart in love's first spring!

On her smooth brow her chesnut hair
Descends, and makes a twilight there!
As softly shadowed and as sweet,
As that when light and darkness meet.
On that pure tablet, Grief hath laid
Her hand, but not one furrow made;
On that unsullied page as yet,

No impress of her seal is set.

From those rich tresses to the view
That dark eye takes a darker hue;
Full-glassy-brilliant-there the mind
Sits like a Deity enshrined;

Within its pupil works a spell

Which fills the mind, we know not why,

With scenes on which our thoughts would dwell
Of vanished hours of bliss gone by.

We gaze and grieve, and still we gaze,
Upon that soul-appealing token;

And mourn, that Time can never raise

One flower like that his touch has broken.

Leeds Intelligencer.

B. B. W.

TO A BUTTERFLY RESTING ON A SKULL.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

CREATURE of air and light!
Emblem of that which may not fade or die,
Wilt thou not speed thy flight

To chase the south-wind through the sunny sky?
What lures thee thus to stay

With Silence and Decay,

Fixed on the wreck of dull Mortality?

The thoughts once chambered there,

Have gathered up their treasures, and are gone!
Will the dust tell us where

They that have burst the prison-house are flown ?
Rise, nursling of the Day,

If thou wouldst trace their way!—

Earth has no voice to make the secret known.

Who seeks the vanished bird,

By the forsaken nest and broken shell?

Far thence, he sings unheard,

Yet free and joyous midst the woods to dwell.
Thou, of the sunshine born,

Take the bright wings of morn !—

Thy hope calls heavenward from yon ruined cell. Literary Gazette.