THOUGH Fate, my girl, may bid us part,
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever;
The heart will seek its kindred heart,
And cling to it as close as ever.

But must we, must we part indeed?
Is all our dream of rapture over?
And does not Julia's bosom bleed

To leave so dear, so fond a lover?

Does she too mourn? - Perhaps she may; Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting: But why is Julia's eye so gay,

If Julia's heart like mine is beating?

NATURE'S LABELS.

A FRAGMENT.

IN vain we fondly strive to trace
The soul's reflection in the face;
In vain we dwell on lines and crosses,
Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ;
Boobies have look'd as wise and bright
As Plato or the Stagirite :

And many a sage and learned skull
Has peep'd through windows dark and dull.
Since then, though art do all it can,
We ne'er can reach the inward man,
Nor (howsoe'er "learn'd Thebans " doubt)
The inward woman, from without,
Methinks 'twere well if Nature could
(And Nature could, if Nature would)
Some pithy, short descriptions write,
On tablets large, in black and white,
Which she might hang about our throttles,
Like labels upon physic-bottles;

And where all men might read—but stay -
As dialectic sages say,

The argument most apt and ample

For common use is the example.

The learned Prue took a pert young thing,
To divert her virgin Muse with,
And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing,
To indite her billet-doux with.
Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledg'd pair
Her only eye, if you'd ask it;
And Tabitha begg'd, old toothless fair,
For the youngest Love in the basket.
Come buy my Loves, &c. &c.

But one was left, when Susan came,
One worth them all together;
At sight of her dear looks of shame,
He smil'd, and prun'd his feather.
She wish'd the boy-'twas more than whim-
Her looks, her sighs betray'd it;
But kisses were not enough for him,
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it!
Good-by, my Loves,
Good-by, my Loves,

"Twould make you smile to've seen us
First trade for this

Sweet child of bliss,

And then nurse the boy between us.

ΤΟ

THE world had just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;

I felt not, as I us'd to feel,

And life grew dark and love was gone.

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,

No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, No circling arms to draw me near — 'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death.

But when I saw that gentle eye,

Oh! something seem'd to tell me then, That I was yet too young to die, And hope and bliss might bloom again.

With every gentle smile that crost

Your kindling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling, which my heart had lost, And peace, which far had learn'd to roam.

'Twas then indeed so sweet to live,

Hope look'd so new and Love so kind, That, though I mourn, I yet forgive

The ruin they have left behind.

ON THE

DEATH OF A LADY.

SWEET spirit! if thy airy sleep

Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs, Then will I weep, in anguish weep,

Till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes. But if thy sainted soul can feel,

And mingles in our misery;
Then, then my breaking heart I'll seal-
Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me.

The beam of morn was on the stream,
But sullen clouds the day deform :
Like thee was that young, orient beam,
Like death, alas, that sullen storm!

Thou wert not form'd for living here,

So link'd thy soul was with the sky;

Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear,

We thought thou wert not form'd to die.