Then shall love teach some virtuous youth "To draw out of the object of his eyes,' The whilst on thee they gaze in simple truth, Hues more exalted, "a refined form," That dreads not age, nor suffers from the And never dies. [worm,

"TIS said that some have died for love: And here and there a church-yard grave is

found

In the cold North's unhallowed ground,Because the wretched man himself had slain,

His love was such a grievous pain.
And there is one whom I five years have
He dwells alone
[known;
Upon Helvellyn's side:
He loved

the pretty Barbara died, And thus he makes his moan: Three years had Barbara in her grave been When thus his moan he made- [laid

"Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind that oak!

Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,

That in some other way you smoke

May mount into the sky!

The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart :

I look the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;

[my heart.

THERE is a change-and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.
What happy moments did I count !
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for this consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.

A well of love-it may be deep-
I trust it is,--and never dry:
What matter? if the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.

Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.

ΤΟ

LET other bards of angels sing,

Bright suns without a spot; But thou art no such perfect thing; Rejoice that thou art not!

Such if thou wert in all men's view,
A universal show,

What would my fancy have to do
My feelings to bestow?

The world denies that thou art fair;
So, Mary, let it be

If nought in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.

LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF

SCOTS

ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR.
SMILE of the moon !-for so I name
That silent greeting from above;
A gentle flash of light that came
From her whom drooping captives love;
Or art thou of still higher birth?
Thou that didst part the clouds of earth,
My torpor to reprove!

Bright boon of pitying Heaven-alas!
I may not trust thy placid cheer!
Pondering that time to-night will pass
The threshold of another year ;
For years to me are sad and dull;
My very moments are too full
Of hopelessness and fear.

And yet, the soul-awakening gleam,
That struck perchance the farthest cone
Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem
To visit me, and me alone;
Me, unapproached by any friend,
Save those who to my sorrows lend
Tears due unto their own.

To-night, the church-tower bells will ring
Through these wide realms a festive peal;
To the new year a welcoming;

A tuneful offering for the weal
Of happy millions lulled in sleep;
While I am forced to watch and weep,
By wounds that may not heal.

Born all too high, by wedlock raised
Still higher-to be cast thus low!
Would that mine eyes had never gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Than the sweet flowerets of the fields!
It is my royal state that yields
This bitterness of woe.

Yet how ?-for I, if there be truth
In the world's voice, was passing fair,
And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
That kill the bloom before its time,
The most resplendent hair.

Unblest distinction! showered on me
To bind a lingering life in chains :---
All that could quit my grasp, or flee,
Is gone ;-but not the subtle stains
Fixed in the spirit; for even here
Can I be proud that jealous fear

Of what I was remains.

A woman rules my prison's key;
A sister queen, against the bent
Of law and holiest sympathy,
Detains me, doubtful of the event;
Great God, who feel'st for my distress,
My thoughts are all that I possess,
Oh, keep them innocent !

Farewell desire of human aid,
Which abject mortals vainly court,
By friends deceived, by foes betrayed,
Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport;
Nought but the world-redeeming cross
Is able to supply my loss,
My burthen to support.

Hark! the death-note of the year
Sounded by the castle clock !
From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear
Stole forth, unsettled by the shock;
But oft the woods renewed their green,
Ere the tired head of Scotland's queen
Reposed upon the block!

THE COMPLAINT

OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. [When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert, unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's "Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean." In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem.]

BEFORE I see another day,
Oh, let my body die away!

In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
The stars were mingled with my dreams;
In rustling conflict through the skies,
I heard, I saw the flashes drive,
And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive;
Before I see another day,
Oh, let my body die away!

My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
Yet is it dead, and I remain.
All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
And they are dead, and I will die.
When I was well, I wished to live,
For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;
But they to me no joy can give,
No pleasure now, and no desire.
Then here contented will I lie !
Alone I cannot fear to die.

Alas! ye might have dragged me on
Another day, a single one.

Too soon I yielded to despair;
Why did ye listen to my prayer?
When ye were gone my limbs were stronger;
And, oh, how grievousiy I rue,
That, afterwards, a little longer,
My friends, I did not follow you?
For strong and without pain I lay,
My friends, when ye were gone away.

My child! they gave thee to another,
A woman who was not thy mother.
When from my arms my babe they took,
On me how strangely did he look!
Through his whole body something ran,
A most strange working did I see;
As if he strove to be a man,

That he might pull the sledge for me.
And then he stretched his arms, how
wild?

Oh, mercy! like a helpless child.

My little joy! my little pride!
In two days more I must have died.
Then do not weep and grieve for me;
I feel I must have died with thee.
O wind, that o'er my head art flying
The way my friends their course did
bend,

I should not feel the pain of dying,
Could I with thee a message send;
Too soon, my friends, ye went away;
For I had many things to say.

I'll follow you across the snow;
Ye travel heavily and slow;
In spite of all my weary pain
I'll look upon your tents again.
My fire is dead, and snowy white
The water which beside it stood;
The wolf has come to me to-night,
And he has stolen away my food.
For ever left alone am I,

Then wherefore should I fear to die?