thies and feelings lie garnered up among the records of departed years, of which his song is but the echo, must often be touched with a sentiment of sadness at the retrospect.

THE FERRY.

Many a year is past and o'er,
Since I cross'd this stream before;
Gleams yon tower in evening's glow,
Sounds, as erst, the river's flow.

Then our passengers were three-
Two, my friends, and dear to me;
One with grave, paternal air,
One in youthful promise fair.

One a life of quiet pass'd,
And in quiet breath'd his last;
But the youth, in foremost rank,
In the storm of battle sank.

So, when o'er those happy days,
Distant far, I dare to gaze,
Still I mourn companions dear,
Reft away, 'mid life's career.

That which ev'ry friendship binds,
Is, the sympathy of minds;
Spirit-hours the past appear,
Spirit forms are with me here.

Take, then, boatman, thrice thy fee-
Willingly I give it thee:

Two whom thou hast ferried o'er,
Earthly bodies wear no more.

"The Ride by Night" exhibits the same peculiarity.

I ride thro' the darksome land afar, Uncheer'd by moonbeam or twinkling star,

Cold tempests around me lowering; Often before have I pass'd this way, When the golden sunshine smiling lay Among roses freshly flow'ring.

I ride to the gloomy garden ground,
I hear the blasts through the branches sound,
And the withered leaves descending;
"Twas here I wander'd in summers flown,
When love had made all the scene his own,
The steps of my fair one tending.

Extinguished now is the sun's glad ray, The roses have wither'd and died away,

And the grave my belov'd is holding; My darksome journey I now pursue, In the wintry storm, with no star in view, My mantle around me folding.

"The Shepherd" is a lay of the middle ages, short and simple-its moral the motto of all things earthly-" passing away."

'Twas near a kingly castle wall,
A fair young swain pass'd by;
A maiden from the window look'd-
He caught her longing eye.

"Oh! might I venture down with thee,” With kindly voice she said; "How white do yonder lambkins seem, The blossoms here, how red."

The youth, in answer, thus replied:

"Oh! would'st thou come with me? Fair glow those rosy cheeks of thine, Those arms can whiter be ?"

And now each morn, in silent grief,
He came, and looked above,
Till from the casement, far aloft,
Appear'd his gentle love.

This friendly greeting then he sent : "Hail! maid of royal line." A gentle answer echoed soon

Thanks, gentle shepherd mine.”

The winter pass'd, the spring appear'd, The flow'rs bloomed rich and fair; The castle bounds he sought again, But she no more was there.

In sorrowing tones, he cried aloud,
"Hail! maid of royal line."
A spirit voice beneath replied,

"Adieu! thou shepherd mine."

"The Wreath" is a charming little fairy story, told with exquisite delicacy and simplicity. Though the "sterne stuff" of manhood may pass it by as a idle fable, destitute of sense or signifi cance, it will, in all probability, be regard ed with favor by the fairer portion of ou readers, whose quick perception will so enable them to unveil its meaning, thoug expressed in allegorical language.

THE WREATH.

A maiden on a sunny glade,

Was gath'ring flow'rs of varied hue; There came from out the greenwood shade A lady fair to view.

She join'd the maid, in friendly guise,

And twined a wreathlet in her hair: "Tho' barren now, flow'rs hence will riseOh! wear it ever there."

And as the maiden grew in years,
And walked by moonlight sheen,
Indulging soft and tender tears,
To bud the wreath was seen.

And when at length her own true knight
Folded her to his breast,
The joyous flow'rs awoke to light,
As thro' the buds they prest.

Soon in the mother's arms was seen
A child in sportive play;
Then golden fruits, 'mid foliage green,
Burst forth in open day.

But when, alas! her love was laid
In funeral dust and night,
Her wild, disorder'd locks display'd
A leaf with autumn's blight.

She follow'd soon; the wreath still graced
Her brow of pallid hue,

And now, strange sight! together placed Grew fruits and blossoms too.

Harald" is a legend of the days of Oberon and Titania, when the "small people," for mirth or mischief, used to play tricks on benighted travellers, and bind with invisible fetters, strong as the chain of destiny, all obnoxious trespassers on their greenwood domains.

HARALD.

With martial train did Harald ride,
A hero bold and good;

Around his march the moonbeams shone,
Within the wild greenwood.

Oh! many a gorgeous banner there
Flings to the breeze its fold,
And many a battle song is heard,
That echoes thro' the wold.

What lurks and rustles in each bush?
Moves upon ev'ry spray?
Drops from the clouds above, and dives
Where foaming streamlets play?

What throws the blossoms here and there?
What sings? glad notes indeed!
What dances thro' the armed ranks,
Or mounts the warlike steed?

Whence come these kisses, soft and sweet?
These arms so gently prest?
What from the scabbard steals the sword,
And leaves nor peace nor rest?

It is a sprightly band of fays;
No arms their spells withstand-
Already ev'ry warrior there
Is in the fairy land.

The chief alone remains behindHarald, the bold true knight; From top to toe his form appears In polished steel bedight.

His warriors all have disappeared--
Around lie shield and spear,
And thro' the wild wood riderless
The chargers swift career.

In heavy sadness thereupon
Did haughty Harald ride;
He rode alone by moonshine bright,
All thro' the forest wide.

He hears a purling 'mid the rocks, Dismounts with hasty fling, Unclasps his helmet from his head, And quaffs the cooling spring.

Scarce has the chieftain quench'd his thirst,
His strength of limb is gone,
Perforce he seeks the rocky couch,

There sleeps and slumbers on.

He's slumbered on the self-same stone,
Thro' ages past away;
Upon his breast his head is sunk,
'His beard and locks are gray.

When lightnings flash, and thunders roll,
And howls the forest broad,
'Tis said the aged chief is known
In dreams to grasp his sword.

The "Dream" is decidedly Uhlandish.

THE DREAM.

Join'd hand in hand, a loving pair
A garden wander'd round;
They sat like spectres, pale with care,
Within that flowery ground.

Each kissed the other's pallid face,
Sweet mutual kisses sped;
They stood entwined in close embrace;
Then grief and languor fled.

Two little bells rang sharp and clear--
Swift did the vision flee;
She lay within the cloister drear,
A far-off exile he.

The "Monk and the Shepherd" has a certain picturesqueness about it, which brings the scene depicted as vividly before the eye as if it had been portrayed by the sister art.

Yet, as with quicken'd strength and power,
Returns the year's delightful prime,
So now, with youth and grace renew'd,
The minstrel roams in his new time.

He mingles with earth's living crowds,
His form no funeral trace displays;
The olden age, that deem'd him dead,
Itself lives only in his lays.

"Walter the True Knight" is a ballad of the middle ages, portraying man's fidelity and woman's inconstancy, contrary to the usual burthen of such ditties, and showing that all damsels were not, in those days, quite so devoted as the "nut brown maid in the old English song, who refused to abandon her lover, even when he informed her

"That he must to the greenwood goe, Alone, a bannyshed man."

The valiant Walter rode along,

Our Lady's church beside;

A maiden on the threshold knelt,
By sorrows deeply tried:

"Oh! halt, my Walter true, for me; Hast thou forgotten-can it be

That voice of old so welcome ?"

"Whom see I here? the faithless maid,
By me belov'd of yore?
But where are now thy robes of silk,
Of gold and gems thy store?"
"Alas! that I my true one left!
For Paradise from me is reft-
With thee again I find it.”

With pitying hand he raised the maid,.
Upon his courser sprung,
And fast around his stalwart form

With frail, white arms she clung.
"Oh! Walter true, this heart, alas!
Is beating now 'gainst cold dull brass,
And not upon thy bosom."

To Walter's castle on they rode,
There all was still and lone;

The visor from his face she took-

His blooming looks had flown. "These sunken eyes, these cheeks so white, Become thee well, thou faithful knight— I love thee more than ever."

The gentle maid the armor loosed, Which he, the wronged one, wore. "What see I here? a sable garb?

What loved one is no more?" "For one beloved my sorrows flow, Whom I on earth no more shall know, Nor ever in the future.”

She sank beside his feet, and there
With outstretched arms she lay :
"On me, poor, hapless penitent,
Some pity take, I pray ;

Oh! raise me up, and make me blest,
And let me on thy faithful breast
From all my grief recover."

"Forbear, forbear, thou wretched child, For vain is thy request;

These arms are bound, as if in chains,
And torpid is this breast.
Be sad, as I am sad, for aye!
Love from this heart hath fled away,

And never more returneth."

Thus have we culled, here and there, a few scattered flowers from the wilderness of sweets in which we have lately been wandering; but, like all exotics, when transplanted from the parent soil, they have lost in the process much of their native freshness and vigor. And even if all their "original brightness" has not yet departed, the faint trace of its existence that may still remain, affords but little indication of their beauty when flourishing in a more genial clime. They resemble the plant which, in the masque of "Comus," the shepherd gave to the attendant spirit:

“The leaf was darkish and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright, golden flow'r, but not in this soil."

W. B.