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Behold him perch'd in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover;
That cover him all over.
Pours forth his song in gushes ;
TO MY CHILD. THEY say thou art not fair to others' eyes,
vho dost seem so beautiful in mine! The stranger coldly passes thee, nor asks What name, what home, what parentage are thine; But carelessly, as though it were by chance, Bestows on thee an unadmiring glance.
Art thou not beautiful ?- To me it seems
Yea, even thy shadow, as it slanting falls,
Art thou not beautiful ?-I hear thy voice-
Yet are there things which through the gazing eye
And therefore did the discontented heart
Hon. MRS. NORTON. REFLECTIONS OF A BELLE. I'm weary of the crowded ball; I'm weary of the
mirth, Which never lifts itself above the grosser things of
earth; I'm weary of the flatterer's tone: its music is no more, And eye and lip may answer not its meaning as before; I'm weary of the heartless throng-of being deem'd
as one, Whose spirit kindles only in the blaze of fashion's sun.
I speak in very bitterness, for I have deeply felt
spirit knelt; Mine is the requiem of years, in reckless folly pass'd, The wail above departed hopes, on a frail venture
cast, The vain regret, that steals above the wreck of
squander'd hours, Like the sighing of the autumn wind above the faded
Oh! it is worse than mockery to list the flatterer's tone, To lend a ready ear to thoughts the cheek must blush
to own, To hear the red lip whisperd of, and the flowing curl
and eye Made constant themes of eulogy, extravagant and
high,— And the charm of person worshipp’d, in a homage
offered not To the perfect charm of virtue, and the majesty of
Away! I will not fetter thus the spirit God hath given, Nor stoop the pinion back to earth that beareth up to
I will not bow a tameless heart to fashion's iron rule, Nor welcome, with a smile, alike the gifted and the
fool : No-let the throng pass coldly on; a treasure few
may find, The charm of person doubly dear beneath the light of mind.
N. E. WEEKLY REVIEW.
The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
The silver wreath of May.
The swallow, too, is come at last;
And hail'd her as she pass'd.
To my reed roof your nest of clay,
At the gray dawn of day.
The Hindostani woods among,
Translate the wild bird's song.
That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee,
You came across the sea.
I would a little while restrain
Your rapid wing, that I might hear Whether on clouds, that bring the rain, You sail'd above the western main,
The wind your charioteer.
In Afric does the sultry gale :
Through spicy bower and palmy grove Bear the repeated cuckoo's tale? Dwells there a time the wand'ring quail,
Or the itinerant dove?
Were you in Asia? O, relate
If there your fabled sister's woes
Her nuptials with the rose.
The vast and pathless ocean o er,
The scenes you left before ; But if, as colder breezes blow,
Prophetic of the warning year,
And linger torpid here;
Bids you to happier hours awake,
The May-fly on the lake.
Approaching dearth of insect food,
Sink in the dimpling flood.