Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this,
Dearest the pain of loving thee,
The very pain, is sweeter bliss
Than passion's wildest ecstasy!

That little cage I would not part,
In which my soul is prisoned now,
For the most light and winged heart
That wantons on the passing vow.

Still, my beloved! still keep in mind,
However far removed from me,
That there is one thou leav'st behind,
Whose heart respires for only thee!

And though ungenial ties have bound
Thy fate unto another's care

That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,
Cannot confine the heart that's there.

No, no! that heart is only mine,

By ties all other ties above,

For I have wed it at a shrine

Where we have had no priest but Love!

SONG.

A CAPTIVE thus to thee, my girl,
How sweetly shall I pass my age,
Contented, like the playful squirrel,

To wanton up and down my cage!

When Death shall envy joy like this,

And come to shade our sunny weather, Be our last sigh the sigh of bliss,

And both our souls exhaled together!

SONG.

WHERE is the nymph, whose azure eye
Can shine through rapture's tear?
The sun has sunk, the moon is high,
And yet she comes not here!

Was that her footstep on the hill--
Her voice upon the gale?

No; 'twas the wind, and all is still:
Oh, maid of Marlivale!

Come to me, love, I've wandered far,
'Tis passed the promised hour:
Come to me, love, the twilight star
Shall guide thee to my bower.

REUBEN AND ROSE.

A TALE OF ROMANCE.

THE darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls
Has long been remembered with awe and dismay!
For years not a sunbeam had played in its halls,
And it seemed as shut out from the regions of day:

Though the valleys were brightened by many a beam,
Yet none could the woods of the castle illume;
And the lightning which flashed on the neighbouring stream
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!

'Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse ?'
Said Willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave.
'It can never dispel,' said the wizard of verse,
'Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave !'

And who was the bright star of chivalry then?
Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age?
For Reuben was first in the combat of men,

Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page.
For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat,
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn,
When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet,
It walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn!

Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever?
Sad, sad were the words of the man in the cave,
That darkness should cover the castle for ever,
Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave!

She flew to the wizard-' And tell me, oh tell!
Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my eyes?'-
'Yes, yes-when a spirit shall toll the great bell

Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise!'

Twice, thrice he repeated, Your Reuben shall rise !'
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain;
She wiped, while she listened, the tears from her eyes,
And she hoped she might yet see her hero again!

Her hero could smile at the terrors of death,

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose !
To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath,
In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose.-

How strangely the order of destiny falls !
Not long in the waters the warrior lay,
When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls,
And the castle of Willumberg basked in the ray !

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank: Two days did she wander, and all the long night, In quest of her love cu the wide river's bank.

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,

And she heard but the breathings of night in the air; Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,

And she saw but the foam of the white billow there.

And often as midnight its veil would undraw,

As she looked at the light of the moon in the stream, She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw,

As the curl of the surge glittered high in the beam.

And now the third night was begemming the sky,
Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclined,
There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,

When,-hark! 'twas the bell that came deep in the wind.

She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade,
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;

She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decayed,
And his helmet of silver was washed by the tide.

Was this what the seer of the cave had foretold?

Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a gleam; 'Twas Reuben, but ah! he was deathly and cold, And flitted away like the spell of a dream!

Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought

From the bank to embrace him, but never, ah! never!
Then springing beneath, at a billow she caught,
And sunk to repose on its bosom for ever!

SONG.

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS.

WRITTEN IN IRELAND.

Of all my happiest hours of joy,-
And even I have had my measure,
When hearts were full and every eye
Has kindled with the beams of pleasure !-

Such hours as this I ne'er was given,
So dear to friendship, dear to blisses;

Young Love himself looks down from heaven,
To smile on such a day as this is !

Then, oh! my friends, this hour improve,
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever!
And may the birth of her we love

Be thus with joy remembered ever!

Oh! banish every thought to-night,
Which could disturb our soul's communion;
Abandoned thus to dear delight,

We'll e'en for once forget the Union!
On that let statesmen try their powers,
And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for;
The union of the soul be ours,

And every union else we sigh for:

Then, oh my friends, this hour improve,
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever;
And may the birth of her we love

Be thus with joy remembered ever!

In every eye around I mark

The feelings of the heart o'erflowing, From every soul I catch the spark

Of sympathy in friendship glowing! Oh! could such moments ever fly;

Oh! that we ne'er were doomed to lose 'em, And all as bright as Charlotte's eye,

And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom.

But oh! my friends, this hour improve,
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever;
And may the birth of her we love
Be thus with joy remembered ever!

For me-whate'er my span of
years,
Whatever sun may light my roving
Whether I waste my life in tears,

Or live, as now, for mirth and loving-
This day shall come with aspect kind,

Wherever Fate may cast your rover;
He'll think of those he left behind,

And drink a health to bliss that's over!'
Then, oh my friends, this hour improve,
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever;
And may the birth of her we love
Be thus with joy remembered ever!

And thought I wafted on my wing
Those flowers which in Elysium spring,
To crown my lovely mortal child.

With olive branch I bound thy head,
Heart's-ease along thy path I shed,

Which was to bloom through all thy years; Nor yet did I forget to bind

Love's roses, with his myrtle twined,
And dewed by sympathetic tears.

Such was the wild but precious boon,
Which Fancy, at her magic noon,
Bade me to Nona's image pay--
Oh! were I, love, thus doomed to be
Thy little guardian deity,

How blest around thy steps I'd play!

Thy life should softly stcal along,
Calm as some lonely shepherd's song
That's heard at distance in the grove;
No cloud should ever shade thy sky,
No thorns along thy pathway lie,

But all be sunshine, peace, and love!

The wing of Time should never brush
Thy dewy lip's luxuriant flush,

To bid its roses withering die;
Nor age itself, though dim and dark,
Should ever quench a single spark
That flashes from my Nona's eye!

MORALITY.

A FAMILIAR EPISTLE.

ADDRESSED TO J. AT-NS-N, ESQ., M.R.I.A.

THOUGH long at school and college, dozing
On books of rhyme and books of prosing,
And copying from their moral pages
Fine recipes for forming sages;

Though long with those divines at school,
Who think to make us good by rule,
Who, in methodic forms advancing,
Teaching morality like dancing,

Tell us, for Heaven or money's sake,
What steps we are through life to take:
Though thus, my friend, so long employed,
And so much midnight oil destroyed,
I must confess, my searches past,
I only learned to doubt at last.