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Melted to one vast Iris of the West,

Where the day joins the past eternity;

While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest!

A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill,
As day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaim'd her order :-gently flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil
The odorous purple of a new-born rose,

Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows.

Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar,
Comes down upon the waters; all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star,

Their magical variety diffuse:

And now they change; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day

Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,

The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is gray.

BYRON.

I WOULD not be

THE ASPEN LEAF.

A leaf on yonder aspen tree;
In every fickle breeze to play,
Wildly, weakly, idly gay,

So feebly framed, so lightly hung,

By the wing of an insect stirr'd and swung;

Thrilling even to a redbreast's note,

Drooping if only a light mist float,

Brighten'd and dimm'd like a varying glass,
As shadow or sunbeam chance to pass;-
I would not be

A leaf on yonder aspen tree.

It is not because the autumn sere

Would change my merry guise and cheer,-
That soon, full soon, nor leaf, nor stem,
Sunlight would gladden, or dewdrop gem,
That I, with my fellows, must fall to earth,
Forgotten our beauty and breezy mirth,
Or else on the bough where all had grown,
Must linger on, and linger alone;
Might life be an endless summer's day,
And I be for ever green and gay,
I would not be, I would not be,
A leaf on yonder aspen tree!

Proudly spoken, heart of mine,

Yet weakness and change perchance are thine,
More, and darker and sadder to see,

Than befall the leaves of yonder tree!

What if they flutter-their life is a dance;

Or toy with the sunbeam-they live in his glance;
To bird, breeze, and insect rustle and thrill,
Never the same, never mute, never still,-
Emblems of all that is fickle and gay,

But leaves in their birth, but leaves in decay-
Chide them not-heed them not-spirit away!
In to thyself, to thine own hidden shrine,

What there dost thou worship? What deem'st thou divine?

Thy hopes, are they steadfast, and holy and high? Are they built on a rock? Are they raised to the sky?

Thy deep secret yearnings,-oh! whither point they, To the triumphs of earth, to the toys of a day?— Thy friendships and feelings,-doth impulse prevail, To make them, and mar them, as wind swells the sail?

Thy life's ruling passion-thy being's first aimWhat are they? and yield they contentment or shame?

Spirit, proud spirit, ponder thy state;

If thine the leaf's lightness, not thine the leaf's fate:
It may flutter, and glisten, and wither, and die,
And heed not our pity, and ask not our sigh;
But for thee, the immortal, no winter may throw
Eternal repose on thy joy, or thy woe;

Thou must live, and live ever, in glory or gloom,
Beyond the world's precincts, beyond the dark tomb.
Look to thyself then, ere past is Hope's reign,
And looking and longing alike are in vain;
Lest thou deem it a bliss to have been or to be
But a fluttering leaf on yon aspen tree!

MISS JEWSBURY.

SHALL A LIGHT WORD PART US?

WE have been friends together,

In sunshine and in shade;

Since first beneath the chestnut trees

In infancy we play'd.

But coldness dwells within my heart,

A cloud is on my brow;

We have been friends together-
Shall a light word part us now?

We have been gay together;
We have laugh'd at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing
Warm and joyous in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together-
Shall a light word part us now?

We have been sad together,
We have wept with bitter tears,

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O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumber'd
The hopes of early years.

The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together-
Oh! what shall part us now?

HON. MRS. NORTON.

IDLE WORDS.

I have a high sense of the virtue and dignity of the female character; and would not, by any means, be thought to attribute to the ladies emphatically, the fault here spoken of. But I have remarked it in some of my friends, who, in all but this, were among the loveliest of their sex. In such, the blemish is more distinct and striking, because so strongly contrasted with the superior delicacy and loveliness of their natures.

"MY GOD;" the beauty oft exclaim'd,
With deep impassion'd tone,-
But not in humble prayer she named
The High and holy One!

"T was not upon the bended knee,
With soul upraised to heaven,
Pleading with heartfelt agony,
That she might be forgiven.

"T was not in heavenly strains to raise
To the great Source of good
Her daily offering of praise,

Her song of gratitude.

But in the gay and thoughtless crowd,
And in the festive hall,

'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud,
She named the Lord of All.

She call'd upon that awful name,
When laughter loudest rang-
Or when the flush of triumph came-
Or disappointment's pang!

The idlest thing that flattery knew,
The most unmeaning jest,

From those sweet lips profanely drew
Names of the Holiest!

I thought-How sweet that voice would be,
Breathing this prayer to heaven-
"My God, I worship only thee;
Q, be my sins forgiven!"

ANON.

TO A SISTER.

YES, dear one, to the envied train
Of those around thy homage pay;
But wilt thou never kindly deign
To think of him that's far away?
Thy form, thine eye, thine angel smile,
For many years I may not see;
But wilt thou not sometimes the while,
My sister dear, remember me?

But not in Fashion's brilliant hall,
Surrounded by the gay and fair,
And thou the fairest of them all,-

O, think not, think not of me there.
But when the thoughtless crowd is gone,
And hush'd the voice of senseless glee,
And all is silent, still and lone,

And thou art sad, remember me.

Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er,
When, in his orbit fair and high,
The morning's glowing charioteer
Rides proudly up the blushing sky;

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