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And has the sprite been here? No-jests apartHowe'er man rules in science and in art, The sphere of woman's glories is the heart. And, if our Muse have sketch'd with pencil true The wife-the mother-firm, yet gentle tooWhose soul, wrapp'd up in ties itself hath spun, Trembles, if touch'd in the remotest one; Who loves-yet dares even Love himself disown, When Honor's broken shaft supports his throne; If such our Ina, she may scorn the evils, Dire as they are, of Critics and-Blue Devils.

In these stanzas I have done little more than relate a fact in verse, and the lady, whose singing gave rise to this

THE DAY-DREAM.1

THEY both were hush'd, the voice, the chords,-
I heard but once that witching lay;

And few the notes, and few the words,
My spell-bound memory brought away;

Traces remember'd here and there,

Like echoes of some broken strain ;Links of a sweetness lost in air,

That nothing now could join again.

Ev'n these, too, ere the morning, fled;

And, though the charm still linger'd on, That o'er each sense her song had shed, The song itself was faded, gone ;—

Gone, like the thoughts that once were ours, On summer days, ere youth had set; Thoughts bright, we know, as summer flowers, Though what they were, we now forget.

In vain, with hints from other strains,
I woo'd this truant air to come-
As birds are taught, on eastern plains,
To lure their wilder kindred home.

In vain :-the song that Sappho gave,
In dying, to the mournful sea,
Not muter slept beneath the wave,
Than this within my memory.

At length, one morning, as I lay

In that half-waking mood, when dreams Unwillingly at last give way

To the full truth of daylight's beams,

A face-the very face, methought,

From which had breathed, as from a shrine Of song and soul, the notes I sought

Came with its music close to mine;

And sung the long-lost measure o'er,—

Each note and word, with every tone And look, that lent it life before,

All perfect, all again my own!

Like parted souls, when, mid the Blest
They meet again, each widow'd sound
Through memory's realm had wing'd in quest,
Of its sweet mate, till all were found.

curious instance of the power of memory in sleep, is Mrs. Robert Arkwright.

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

For sometimes, in repose, she hid
Their rays beneath a downcast lid;
And then again, with wakening air,
Would send their sunny glances out,
Like heralds of delight, to bear

Her heart's sweet messages about.

THE DREAM OF THE TWO SISTERS

FROM DANTE.

Nell cra, credo, che dell' oriente
Prima uggiò nel monte Citerea,

Che di fuoco d' amor par sempre ardente,
Giovane e bella in sogno mi parea
Donna vedere andar per una landa
Cogliendo fiori; e cantando dicea :-
Sappia qualunque 'l mio nome dimanda,
Ch' io mi son Lia, e vo movendo 'ntorno
Le belle mani a farmi una ghirlanda-
Per piacermi allo specchio qui m' adorno;
Ma mia snora Rachel mai non si smaga
Dal suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto il giorno.
Ell' è de' suoi begli occhi veder vaga,
Com' io dell' adornarmi con le mani;
Lei lo vedere e me l'ovrare appaga.

DANTE, Purg. canto xxvii.

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But, lo, the scene now changed again-
And borne on plumed steed,

I saw thee o'er the battle-plain
Our land's defenders lead;

And stronger in thy beauty's charms,
Than man, with countless hosts in arms,
Thy voice, like music, cheer'd the Free,
Thy very smile was victory!

Nor reign such queens on thrones alone-
In cot and court the same,
Wherever woman's smile is known,
Victoria's still her name.

For though she almost blush to reign,

Though Love's own flow'rets wreath the chain, Disguise our bondage as we will,

"Tis woman, woman, rules us still.

COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR AGAIN.

- A BALLAD.

COME, play me that simple air again,

I used so to love, in life's young day, And bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then Were waken'd by that sweet lay

The tender gloom its strain

Shed o'er the heart and brow,
Grief's shadow, without its pain-
Say where, where is it now?

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BY ONE WHO ADMIRES HIS CHARACTER AND TALENTS, AND IS PROUD OF HIS FRIENDSHIP.

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DURING a visit lately paid by me to the monastery of St. Macarius-which is situated, as you know, in the Valley of the Lakes of Natron-I was lucky enough to obtain possession of a curious Greek manuscript which, in the hope that you may be induced to translate it, I herewith transmit to you. Observing one of the monks very busily occupied in tearing up into a variety of fantastic shapes some papers which had the appearance of being the leaves of old books, I inquired of him the meaning of his task, and received the following explanation:

The Arabs, it seems, who are as fond of pigeons as the ancient Egyptians, have a superstitious notion that, they place in their pigeon-houses small scraps of paper, written over with learned charac

ters, the birds are always sure to thrive the better for the charm; and the monks, who are never slow in profiting by superstition, have, at all times, a supply of such amulets for purchasers.

In general, the fathers of the monastery have been in the habit of scribbling these fragments themselves; but a discovery lately made by them, saves all this trouble. Having dug up (as my informant stated) a chest of old manuscripts, which, being chiefly on the subject of alchemy, must have been buried in the time of Dioclesian, "we thought," added the monk, "that we could not employ such rubbish more properly, than in tearing it up, as you see, for the pigeon-houses of the Arabs.”

On my expressing a wish to rescue some part of these treasures from the fate to which his indolent fraternity had consigned them, he produced the manuscript which I have now the pleasure of sending you the only one, he said, remaining entire-and I very readily paid the price which he demand.

ed for it.

You will find the story, I think, not altogether uninteresting; and the coincidence, in many respects, of the curious details in Chap. VI with the description of the same ceremonies in the Romance

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- The description, here aliuded to, may also be found, copied verbatim from Sethos, in the "Voyages d'Antenor.""In that philosophical romance, called 'La Vie de Sethos,""

rigid notions on the subject of religion, produces the opposite extreme of laxity and infidelity in the other; and this kind of reaction it was that now mainly contributed to render the doctrines of the Garden the most fashionable philosophy of the day. The rapid progress of the Christian faith had alarmed all those, who, either frem piety or worldliness, were interested in the continuance of the old established creed-all who believed in the Deities of Olympus, and all who lived by them. The natural consequence was, a considerable increase of zeal and activity, throughout the constituted authorities and priesthood of the whole Heathen world. What was wanting in sincerity of belief was made up in rigor; the weakest parts of the Mythology were those, of course, most angrily defended, and any reflections, tending to bring Saturn, or his wife Ops, into contempt, were punished with the utmost severity of the law.

In this state of affairs, between the alarried bigotry of the declining Faith and the simple, sublime austerity of her rival, it was not wonderful that those lovers of ease and r'easure, who had no interest, reversionary or otherwise, in the old religion, and were too indolent to inquire into the sanctions of the new, should take refuge from the severities of both in the arms of a luxurious philosophy, which, leaving to others the task of disputing about the future, centred all its wisdom in the full enjoyment of the present.

The sectaries of the Garden had, ever since the death of their founder, been accustomed to dedicato to his memory the twentieth day of every month. To these monthly rites had, for some time, been added a grand annual Festival, in commemoration of his birth. The feasts given on this occasion by my predecessors in the Chair, had been invariably distinguished for their taste and splendor; and it was my ambition, not merely to imitate this example, but even to render the anniversary, now celebrated under my auspices, so lively and brilliant as to efface the recollection of all that had preceded it.

Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed so bright a scene. The grounds that formed the original site of the Garden had received, from time to time, considerable additions; and the whole extent was now laid out with that perfect taste which understands how to wed Nature with Art, without sacrificing any of her simplicity to the alliance. Walks, leading through wildernesses of shade and fragrance-glades, opening, as if to afford a playground for the

says Warburton, "we find a much juster account of old
Ciel.'"-Div. Leg. book iv. sect. 14.
Egyptian wisdom, than in all the pretended Histoire du

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