Sad eminence!-What can its cares reward?

The wife's fond passion-the dear friend's regard

The mother's tender hopes-the daughter's

duty

All that consummates woman's mental beauty, All must be yielded up with brow serene: Merging wife, mother, daughter, in the crowned Queen!

I. TAYLOR.

BURIAL AT SEA.

"HOPELESS as they who, far at sea,
By the cold moon have just consign'd
The corse of one, loved tenderly,
To the bleak flood they leave behind;
And on the deck still lingering stay,
And long look back, with sad delay,
To watch the moonlight on the wave,
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave."
T. MOORE.

FAME.

WHO, that surveys this span of earth we press,
This speck of life in time's great wilderness,
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
The past, the future, two eternities !—

Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare,
When he might build him a proud temple there;
A name that long shall hallow all its space,
And be each purer soul's high resting-place!

T. MOORE.

A SIMILE.

As the ample Moon

In the deep stillness of a summer even,
Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,
Burns like an unconsuming fire of light
In the green trees; and kindling on all sides
Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil
Into a substance glorious as her own;
Yea, with her own incorporated, by power
Capacious and serene: Like power abides
In man's celestial spirit, Virtue thus

Sets forth, and magnifies herself; thus feels
A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire,

From the incumbrances of mortal life;

From error, disappointment,-nay, from guilt; And sometimes, so relenting Justice wills,

From palpable oppressions of despair.

WORDSWORTH.

THE BRIDE.

LIKE a slight young tree, that throws The weight of rain from its drooping boughs, Once more she wept. But a changeful thing Is the human heart, as a mountain spring, That works its way thro' the torrent's foam, To the bright pool near it, the lily's home! It is well! The cloud, on her soul that lay, Hath melted in glittering drops away. Wake again, mingle, sweet flute and lyre! She turns to her lover, she leaves her sire, Mother! on earth it must still be so, Thou rearest the lovely to see them go!

F. HEMANS.

THE FORSAKEN.

Он, misery! to see the tomb
Close over all our world of bloom;
To look our last in the dear eyes
Which made our light of Paradise;
To know that silent is the tone
Whose tenderness was all our own!

To kiss the cheek which once had burned
At the least glance, and find it turned
To marble; and then think of all,
Of hope, that memory can recall.
Yes, misery! but even here
There is a somewhat left to cheer,
A gentle treasuring of sweet things
Remembrance gathers from the past,
The pride of faithfulness, which clings
To love kept sacred to the last.
And even if another's love

Has traced the heart to us above

The treasures of the east, yet still

There is a solace for the ill.

Those who have known love's utmost spell

Can feel for those who love as well;

Can half forget their own distress,

To share the loved one's happiness.

But, oh, to know our heart has been,
Like the toy of an Indian queen,
Torn, trampled, without thought or care,
Where is despair like this despair!

L. E. L.

HEAVEN.

Go, wing thy flight from star to star,
From world to luminous world, as far

As the universe spreads its flaming wall; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years; One minute of Heaven is worth them all! T. MOORE.

CANST THOU FORGET ME?

CANST thou forget me, unforgotten one?
Canst thou forget

The beauty of the earth,-the brightness of the

sun,

The flowers whose summer lives were just begun, When we two met?