To count the long dark lashes in the fringe
Of her bewildering eyes! The kerchief sweet
That enviably visits her red lip

Has slumber'd, while she held it, on my knee,-
And her small foot has crept between mine own-
And yet, she knows me not!

Now, thanks to heaven

For blessings chainless in the rich man's keeping-
Wealth that the miser cannot hide away!
Buy, if they will, the invaluable flower-

They cannot store its fragrance from the breeze!
Wear, if they will, the costliest gem of Ind-
It pours its light on every passing eye!
And he who on this beauty sets his name-
Who dreams, perhaps, that for his use alone
Such loveliness was first of angels born-
Tell him, oh whisperer at his dreaming ear,
That I too, in her beauty, sun my eye,
And, unrebuked, may worship her in song-
Tell him that heaven, along our darkling way,
Hath set bright lamps with loveliness alight—
And all may in their guiding beams rejoice;
But he as 'twere a watcher by a lamp-
Guards but this bright one's shining.

THE WHITE CHIP HAT.

I PASS'D her one day in a hurry,

When late for the Post with a letterI think near the corner of MurrayAnd up rose my heart as I met her! I ne'er saw a parasol handled

So like to a dutchess's doing

I ne'er saw a slighter foot sandall'd,
Or so fit to exhale in the shoeing-
Lovely thing!

Surprising one woman can dish us
So many rare sweets up together!
Tournure absolutely delicious-

Chip hat without flower or feather-
Well-gloved and enchantingly boddiced,
Her waist like the cup of a lily—
And an air, that, while daintily modest,
Repell'd both the saucy and silly-
Quite the thing!

For such a rare wonder you'll say, sir, There's reason in straining one's tetherAnd, to see her again in Broadway, sir,

Who would not be lavish of leather!

I met her again, and as you know

I'm sage as old Voltaire at Ferney— But I said a bad word-for my Juno Look'd sweet on a sneaking attorney— Horrid thing!

Away flies the dream I had nourish'd-
My castles like mockery fall, sir!
And, now, the fine airs that she flourish'd
Seem varnish and crockery all, sir!
The bright cup which angels might handle
Turns earthy when finger'd by asses-
And the star that "swaps" light with a candle.
Thenceforth for a pennyworth passes!—
Not the thing!

YOU KNOW IF IT WAS YOU.

As the chill'd robin, bound to Florida
Upon a morn of autumn, crosses flying
The air-track of a snipe most passing fair-
Yet colder in her blood than she is fair-
And as that robin lingers on the wing,
And feels the snipe's flight in the eddying air,
And loves her for her coldness not the less-

But fain would win her to that warmer sky
Where love lies waking with the fragrant stars-
So I-a languisher for sunnier climes,

Where fruit, leaf, blossom, on the trees forever
Image the tropic deathlessness of love-
Have met, and long'd to win thee, fairest lady,
To a more genial clime than cold Broadway!

Tranquil and effortless thou glidest on, As doth the swan upon the yielding water, And with a cheek like alabaster cold! But as thou didst divide the amorous air Just opposite the Astor, and didst lift That veil of languid lashes to look in At Leary's tempting window-lady! then My heart sprang in beneath that fringéd veil, Like an adventurous bird that would escape To some warm chamber from the outer cold! And there would I delightedly remain, And close that fringéd window with a kiss, And in the warm sweet chamber of thy breast, Be prisoner forever!

LOVE IN A COTTAGE.

THEY may talk of love in a cottage,
And bowers of trellised vine-

Of nature bewitchingly simple,

And milkmaids half divine;

They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping
In the shade of a spreading tree,
And a walk in the fields at morning,
By the side of a footstep free!

But give me a sly flirtation

By the light of a chandelierWith music to play in the pauses,

And nobody very near;

Or a seat on a silken sofa,

With a glass of pure old wine, And mamma too blind to discover The small white hand in mine.

Your love in a cottage is hungry,
Your vine is a nest for flies-
Your milkmaid shocks the Graces,
And simplicity talks of pies!
You lie down to your shady slumber

And wake with a bug in your ear,