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"Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.

5.

Oh could I feel as I have felt or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd scene: [though they be, As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC,

THERE be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like thee;

And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming.

And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's sleep:

So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;

With a full but soft emotion,

Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

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Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show!
Then thou wouldst at last discover
"Twas not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend thee
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's wo-

Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a ceaseless wound!

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not:
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:

Still thine own its life retaineth

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth Is that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live, but every morrow Wake us from a widow'd bed. And when thou wouldst solace gather, When our child's first accents flow,

Wilt thou teach her to say

"Father!"

Though his care she must forego?

When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is prest,

Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Think of him thy love had bless'd!

Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou never more may'st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride which not a world could bow,
Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now:
But, 'tis done-all words are idle-
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well!-thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,

Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted--
More than this I scarce can die.

A SKETCH.

"Honest-Honest Iago!

If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."

Shakespeare.

BORN in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;
Next-for some gracious service unexprest,
And from its wages only to be guess'd-
Raised from the toilet to the table,-where
Her wandering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd,
She dines from off the plate, she lately wash'd.
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie-
The genial confidante, and general spy—
Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess→
An only infant's earliest governess!

She taught the child to read, and taught so well,
That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spell.
An adept next in penmanship she grows,
As many a nameless slander deftly shows:
What she had made the pupil of her art,

None know-but that high Soul secured the heart,
And panted for the truth it could not hear,

With longing breast and undeluded ear.

Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind,

Which Flattery fool'd not-Baseness could not blind, Deceit infect not-near Contagion soil

Indulgence weaken-nor Example spoil

Nor master'd science tempt her to look down
On humbler talents with a pitying frown-

VOL. VI.-X

Nor Genius swell-nor Beauty render vain

Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain

Nor Fortune change-Pride raise-nor Passion bow,
Nor virtue teach austerity-till now.'
Serenely purest of her sex that live

But wanting one sweet weakness-to forgive,
Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know,
She deems that all could be like her below;
Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend,
For Virtue pardons those she would amend.

But to the theme:-now laid aside too long
The baleful burthen of this honest song-
Though all her former functions are no more,
She rules the circle which she served before,
If mothers-none know why-before her quake;
If daughters dread her for the mother's sake;
If early habits-those false links, which bind
At times the loftiest to the meanest mind-
Have given her power too deeply to instil
The angry essence of her deadly will;
If like a snake she steal within your walls,
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls;
If like a viper to the heart she wind,

And leave the venom there she did not find;
What marvel that this hag of hatred works
Eternal evil latent as she lurks,
To make a Pandemonium where she dwells,
And reign the Hecate of domestic hells?
Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints
With all the kind mendacity of hints

[smiles

While mingling truth with falsehood---sneers with A thread of candour with a web of wiles;

A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,

To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd scheming;

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