I have no more to say, but linger still,
And dare not set my seal upon this sheet,
And yet I may as well the task fulfil,

;

My misery can scarce be more complete.
I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill
Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet,
And I must even survive this last adieu,
And bear with life-to love and

pray

for you.

But the moments are past,

And her fears are at rest, And her lover at last

Holds her clasp'd to his breast;

And the planet above,

And the quiet blue sea,

Are pledged to his love
And his constancy.

Her cheek is reclined

On the home of his breast,
And his fingers are twined
'Mid her ringlets, which rest
In many a fold

O'er his arm, that is placed
Round the cincture of gold
Which encircles her waist.

He looks on the stars

Which are gemming the blue, And devoutly he swears

He will ever be true;

Then bends him to hear

The low sound of her sigh,

And kiss the fond tear

From her beautiful eye.

And he watches its flashes,
Which brightly reveal
What the long fringing lashes
Would vainly conceal;
And reads-while he kneels
All his ardour to speak-

Her reply, as it steals
In a blush o'er her cheek!

Till, won by the prayers
Which so softly reprove,
On his bosom, in tears,

She half murmurs her love;
And the stifled confession
Enraptured he sips,

'Mid the breathings of passion,
In dew from her lips!

THE DREAM OF ENDYMION.

Brandreth.

THE sun had just set o'er the green isle of Patmos;
The bright star of eve had just risen o'er the steep;
Where, hard by his flock, the young shepherd of Latmos,
All fair in his beauty, lay cradled in sleep.

He slept-but it was not that undisturb'd slumber,
Which, while it refreshes, oppresses the soul;
Strange visions of darkness and light, without number,
Appear'd in chaotic confusion to roll.

Earth seem'd all deprived, as by magic, of motion,—
E'en Jove's mighty self stood transfix'd with despair,—
No tide, not a wave, swell'd the surface of ocean,
For Neptune no more was omnipotent there.

Still, still he dream'd on-not a night breeze was playing In soft fairy whispers the laurels among;

The sheep on the thyme banks no longer were strayingAll nature was hush'd, save the nightingale's song.

'Twas thus as he slumber'd, a bright cloud of glory
Came o’er him, yet broke not the while his repose;
It vanish'd, and from it, all chaste as in story,
Yet fairer, the form of Diana arose.

"Long time, hapless shepherd! I've seen, and for ever
Am fated to see," she exclaim'd, "thy distress;
Not idly, though vainly, since never, oh! never
Must Dian accept of a mortal's caress.

"Yet still what I can I will give to thee (languish
No more, then, for pleasures, thy birthright above)—
I'll give thee fair friendship, the soother of anguish,
Not dark as despair, nor yet lambent as love.

"Yes-friendship, which, free from love's selfish caresses,
Enchains, but beguiles not th' affections the while;
The dark cloud of sorrow, which often oppresses
The spirit, disperses if friendship but smile.

"Then fare thee well, shepherd! should Venus around thee Her Cyprian mantle endeavour to roll,

Dispel the illusion! say Dian has bound thee

With that which enchains-not the heart-but the soul!"

And still on the verge of the moon-crested mountain,
The form of Endymion is fabled to move,

And many a Greek girl, as she weeps by its fountain,
How often for friendship would barter young love.

THE LOVER'S ADDRESS TO THE SPIRIT OF HIS

MISTRESS.

L. S. S.*

THERE are bright, bright eyes that court my gaze,

There are graceful forms that meet ine,

There are gentle voices on mine ear,

That pour sweet songs to greet me!

But by that deep vow that made us one,
In life's first morn of beauty,
Not all their spells shall seduce my heart
From thee, and love, and duty.

No!-by the first chaste, hallowed kiss
Thy virgin fondness granted—
Pledge of a flame, how pure! for which
My spirit long had panted-

And O! by the last faint kiss, that urged
The frenzy of thy lover,

In that dark hour, when thy sinless soul
Seem'd on thy lips to hover-

As though, ere for realms of cloudless joy,
It plumed its snowy pinion,

It paused, to weep o'er the lonely heart

That it left to grief's dominion.

Author of Lyrical Poems," "The Siege of Zaragoza," " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," &c.