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 Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Their magical variety diffuse: And now they change; a paler shadow strews Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 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; 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, A leaf on yonder aspen tree. It is not because the autumn sere Would change my merry guise and cheer,- Proudly spoken, heart of mine, Yet weakness and change perchance are thine, 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; But leaves in their birth, but leaves in decay- 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: Thou must live, and live ever, in glory or gloom, 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- We have been gay together; We have been sad together, O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumber'd The voices which are silent there 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, "T was not upon the bended knee, "T was not in heavenly strains to raise Her song of gratitude. But in the gay and thoughtless crowd, 'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud, She call'd upon that awful name, The idlest thing that flattery knew, From those sweet lips profanely drew I thought-How sweet that voice would be, ANON. TO A SISTER. YES, dear one, to the envied train But not in Fashion's brilliant hall, O, think not, think not of me there. And thou art sad, remember me. Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er, |