Unutterable things,— And wrought, unweariedly, to cull But even then, at times, would roll, That hushed all other sense to sleep; And only waked to weep That man should be cut off from bliss, He loved I will not say how true The faithless tongue perchance might lie ;He did not love as others do, Nor cringe, nor flatter, whine nor sigh! Look on his inmost heart, and trace, What time may deepen, not efface, And warm and glowing stamp it there. His hopes were crushed;-he strove to hide The past, by mingling with mankind; And left the maid he deified Idols elsewhere to find. Now, from Love's sanctuary hurled, Wreck of the past his future stay— The bonds that has been wrenched away! He stands as stands a ruined Tower Which Time in triumph desolates; The ivy wreath that scorns his power, A melancholy gloom creates. What though it shine in light while yet The stone it decorates; So, smiles upon his pallid brow But wring the ruined heart below! B. B. W. SUNSET THOUGHTS. How beautiful the setting sun reposes o'er the wave! The cloudlets, edged with crimson light, veil o'er the blue serene, The heaving sea, the distant hill,—the waning sky,-the woods— Where are the bright illusions vain, that fancy boded forth! Oh! who would live those visions o'er, all brilliant though they seem, Since Earth is but a desert shore, and Life a weary dream! Blackwood's Magazine. THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF. THERE is a tongue in every leaf,— A voice that speaketh every where, 'Tis the Great Spirit, wide diffused I see Him in the blazing sun, I see Him, hear Him, every where, I feel Him in the silent dews, By grateful earth betrayed; I feel Him in the gentle showers, The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, The sunshine, and the shade. And yet (ungrateful that I am!) I've turned in sullen mood From all these things, whereof He said, When the great whole was finished, That they were 'very good.' My sadness on the loveliest things Yet was he patient-slow to wrath, And still the same rich feast was spread Not always so I woke again, The clouds drew up, the shadows fled, Of darkness and of doubt. Blackwood's Magazine. FROM THE ARABIC. OH! ask me not-oh! task me not Her monument to see, For doubly blest is there the rest, Oh! say not so-you may not so C. STANZAS BY LORD BYRON. THERE was a time I need not name, And from that hour when first thy tongue Confessed a love which equalled mine,— Though many a grief my heart hath wrung, Unknown, and thus unfelt by thine, None, none, hath sunk so deep as this,To think how soon that love hath flown! Transient as every faithless kiss, But transient in thy breast alone! And yet my heart some solace knew, Remembrance of the days that were. Yes! my adored! yet most unkind! Remembrance of that love remain. Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Thou hast been, dearly, solely, mine! |