ness the eager cravings, and mad careerings of lust, and shakes from its pure vestments the breath of the pollutor's words. Shelly sung : "Even love is sold; the solace of all wo All human life with hydra-headed woes." Shelly--though thou wert infinitely wrong as intending to express thine own peculiar thought, yet in casting the mind over the scenes of the social, the domestic world, we are compelled with shame and blushings, to acknowledge thee half right, in our appropriation of thy lines! Love is liberty, and marriage is not bondage, when consummated with reference to its laws as a Divine institution. But when not so consummated, when self predominates, when passion rages and triumphs, it becomes a curse, and the type of all misery. Those affections which are implanted within our nature, by the God who has created us, are not to be subordinated to gross passions, but are to be cherished, and exalted into real and triumphant being; they are to be developed in all their beauty, grace and life, and appropriated to the attainment and enjoyment of those associations which are genial and blessed. Then will the Fairyland. I. THE signal star from its silent tower, And sheds o'er earth her paly beams, The fiery choirs their dance pursue, And neath the light of their twinkling gleams, The Fairies throng to their elfin hall, To join in the merry festival. They leave the shades of their woven bowers, And soft retreats in the balmy flowers, From coral cavern and laughing fountain. Some glide over the spell-bound deep, O'er streamlets lulled by a charm to sleep, Some dart by on the centipede Fleet as the shaft of the lightning riven,— Elf and sylph and sprite and fay, Have left their haunts with the twilight ray, Once more at their lovely monarch's feet; For 'tis the time in the elfin year, When all who own her gentle sway, Must at her magic court appear, Their wonted fealty to pay, And then with pastime, dance and glee, Circle round the elfin tree. II. Sweetly the stars are smiling on The fairies' spell-wrought mystic grot, And they have ne'er looked down upon, A lovelier, a more dream-like spot. Behind huge clifts stupendous rise, That pierce the blue depths of the skies,— Crag o'er crag in grandeur piled, Rock upon rock sublimely wild; Umbered by many a chasm brown, Where startling mystery seems to frown.— And on the highest peak afar, A streamlet pours its pearly tide Wild music from its dashing swells, With silvery arms they clasp around, |