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"Heard nothing save one low-breathed sigh.

For love to bow before the name My hand kept wandering on my lute,

of this world's treasure : shame! oh, shame! . In music, but consciously:

Love, be thy wings as light as those My pulses throbbed, my heart beat high,

That waft the zephyr from the rose,
A flush of dizzy ecstasy

This may be pardoned--something rare
Crimsoned my cheek; I felt warm tear's

In loveliness bas been thy snare !
Dimming my sight, yet was it sweet,

But how, fair Love, canst thou become
My wild heart's most bewildering beat,

A thing of mines—a sordid gnome?
Consciousness, without hopes or fears,

And she whom Julian left-she stood
Of a new power within me waking,

A cold white statue ; as the blood Like light before the morn's fall breaking. Had, when in vain ber last wild prayer, . To this succeeds some beautiful

Flown to her heart and frozen there. description of a Palace Chamber, to

Upon ber temple, each dark vein

Swelled in its agony of pain. which retiring, and wrapt in melan- Chill, heavy damps were on her brow; choly musing, “ she sang, but as she Her arms were stretched at length, though now sang she wept."

Their clasp was on the empty air ;

A funeral pall-her long black hair
THE CHARMED CUP.

Fell over her ; berself the tomb
And fondly round his neck she clung ;

Of her own youth, and breath, and bloom. Iler long black tresses round him flung,

Alas! that man should ever win Love-chains, which would not let him part;

So sweet a shrine to shame and sin

As woman's heart And be could feel her beating heart,

and deeper woe The pulses of her small white hand,

For her fond weakness not to know The tears she could no more command,

That yielding all but breaks the chain The lip which trembled, though near his,

That never reunites again! The sigh that mingled with her kiss,

It was a dark and tempest nightYet parted be from that embrace.

No pleasant moon, no blest starlight; He cast one glance upon her face :

But meteors glancing o'er the way, His very soul felt sick to see

Only to dazzle and betray. Its look of utter misery;

And who is she, that 'mid the storm, Yet turned he not: one moment's grief,

Wraps her slight mantle round ber form? One pang, like lightning, fierce and brief,

Her hair is wet with rain and sleet, One thought, half pity, half remorse,

And blood is on her small snow feet. Pass'd o'er him. On he urged his horse ;

She has been forced a way to make Hill, ford, and valley spurred he by,

Through prickly weed and thorned brake, And when bis castle gate was nigh,

Up rousing from its coil the snake ; White foam was on his 'broider'd rein,

And stirring from their damp abode And each spur had a blood-red stain.

The slimy worm and loathsome toad : But soon be entered that sair ball :

And shuddered as she heard the gale His laugh was loudest there of all ;

Shriek like an evil spirit's wail ; And the cup that wont one name to bless,

When followed like a curse the crash Was drained for its forgetfulness.

Df the pines in the lightning flash :The ring, once next his heart, was broken ;

A place of evil and of fearThe gold chain kept another token.

O what can Julian's love do here? Where is the curl he used to wear

On, on the pale girl went. At last The raven tress of silken bair?

The gloomy forest depths are past, The winds have scattered it. A braid,

And she has reached the wizard's den,

Accursed by God and shunned by men. of the first Spring-day's golden shade Waves with the dark plume on his crest.

And never had a ban been laid Fresh colours are upou his breast;

Upon a more unwholesome shade. The slight blue scarf, of simplest fold,

There grew dank alders, and the yew Is changed for one of woven gold.

Its thick sepulchral shadow threw ; And he is by a maiden's side,

And brooded there each bird most foul, Whose gems of price, and robes of pride,

The gloomy bat and sullen owl. Would suit the daughter of a king ;

But Ida entered in the cell, And diamonds are glistening

Wbere dwelt the wizard of the dell.

Her heart lay dead, her life-blood froze
Upon her arm. There's not one curl
Unfastened by a loop of pearl.

To look upon the shape which rose
And he is whispering in her ear

To bar ber entrance. On that face Soft words that ladies love to hear.

Was scarcely left a single trace

or human likeness : the parched skin Alas !--the tale is quickly toldHis love hath felt the curse of gold !

Showed each discoloured bone within ; And he is bartering his heart

And but for the most evil stare For that in which he hath no part.

of the wild eyes' unearthly glare, There's many an ill that clipgs to love ;

It was a corpse, you would have said, But this is one all else above ;

From which life's freshness long bad fled.

Heart-uttered words, passionate thoughts,

Which I had never marked before. 'Twas as my beart's full happiness Poured over all its own excess.

And here a playful change is introduced in the character of a “ Hindoo Girl's Song ;" followed by an eastern legend. We quote both ;

Yet Ida knelt her down and prayed
To that dark sorcerer for his aid.
He heard her prayer with witbering look ;
Then from upholy herbs be took
A drug, and said it would recover
The lost heart of her faithless lover.
She trembled as she turned to see
His demon sneer's malignity;
And every step was winged with dread,
To hear the curse bowled as she fled.

It is the purple twilight hour,
And Julian is in Ida's bawer.
He has brought gold, as gold could bless
His work of utter desolateness!
He has brought gems, as if Despair
Ilad any pride in being fair!
But Ida only wept, and wreathed
Her white arms round bis neck; then breathed
Those passionate complaints that wring
A woman's heart, yet never bring
Redress. She call'd upon each tree
To witness her Jone constancy!
She call'd upon the silent boughs,
The temple of ber Julian's vows
Of happiness too dearly bought !
Tben wept again. At length she thought
Upon the forest sorcerer's gift-
The last, lone hope that love had left!
She took the cup, and kiss'd the brim;
Mixed the dark spell, and gave it him
To pledge his once dear Ida's name!
He drank it. Instantly the flame
Ran through his veins : one fiery throb
or bitter pain-one gasping sob,
Of agony-the cold death sweat
Is on his face-his teeth are set-
His bursting eyes are glazed and still :
The drug has done its work of ill.
Alas! for her who watch'd each breath,
The cup her love bad mixed bore-death! .

Playful and wild as the fire-flies' light,
This moment hidden, the next moment bright,
Like the foam on the dark-green sea,
Is the spell that is laid on my lover by me.
Were your sigh as sweet as the sumbal's sigh,
When the wind of the evening is nigh;
Were your smile like that glorious light,
Seen when the stars gem the deep midnight ;
Were that sigh and that smile for ever the same
They were shadows, not fuel, to love's dall'd flame.

Love once formed an amulet,
With pearls, and a rainbow, and rose-leaves set.
The pearls were pure as pearls could be,
And white as maiden purity;
The rose bad the beauty and breath of soul,
And the rainbow-changes crowned the whole.
Frown on your lover one little while,
Dearer will be the light of your smile;
Let your blush, laugh, and sigh ever mingle together,
Like the bloom, sun, and clouds of the sweet spring

weather.
Love never must sleep in security,
Or most calm and cold will bis waking be.
And as that light strain died away,

Again I swept the breathing strings:
But now the notes I waked were sad,

As those the pining wood-dove sings.

THE INDIAN BRIDE.

SHE has lighted her lamp, and crowned it with The progress of the songster's own SHE

flowers, love is potently touched :

The sweetest that breathed of the summer hours :

Red and white roses linked in a band, Spirit of Love ! soon thy rose-plumes wear

Like a maiden's blush or a maiden's hand; The weight and the sully of canker and care :

Jasmines,--some like silver spray, Falsehood is round thee ; Hope Jeads thee on,

Some like gold in the morning ray; Till every hue from thy pinion is gone."

Fragrant stars, -and favourites they,

When Indian girls on a festival-day, The effects of this enchanting pas

Braid their dark tresses: and over all weares sion are pourtrayed with equal delicacy,

The rosy bower of lotus leaves vigour, and truth :

Canopy suiting the lamp-lighted bark,

Love's own flowers and Love's own ark. I owned not to myself I loved,

She watch'd the sky, the sunset grew dim; No word of love Lorenzo breathed ;

She raised to Camdeo ber evening hyma. But I lived in a magic ring,

The scent of the night-flowers came on the air ; Of every pleasant flower wreathed.

And then, like a bird escap'd from the snare, A brighter blue was on the sky,

She flew to the river-(no moon was bright, A sweeter breath in music's sigh;

But the stars and the fire-flies gave her their light :) The orange shrubs all seemed to bear

She stood beneath the mangoes' shade, Fruit more rich, and buds more fair.

Half delighted and half afraid; There was a glory on the noon,

She trimmed the lamp, and breathed on each bloom, A beauty in the crescent moon,

(Oh, that breath was sweeter than all their perfume !) A lulling stillness in the vight,

Threw spices and oil on the spire of fame, A feeling in the pale starlight.

Called thrice on her absent lover's name ; There was a charmed note on the wind,

And every pulse throbbed as she gave A spell in Poetry's deep store-

Her little boat to the Ganges' wave.

And scatter'd them round. At once they raise.
The hymn of rejoicing and love in her praise.
A prayer is muttered, a blessing said,
Her torch is raised !-she is by the dead.
She has fired the pile! At once there came
A mingled rush of smoke and of flame:
The wind swept it off. They saw the bride,
Laid by her Azim, side by side.
The breeze had spread the long curls of her hair:
Like a banner of fire they played on the air.
The smoke and the flame gather'd round as before,
Then cleared ;-but the bride was seen po more!

But the heroine's own melancholy fate approaches; the victim of an unrequited affection

Lorenzo like a dream had flown!
We did not meet again:-he seemed

To shun each spot where I might be ;
And, it was said, apother claimed
The heart—more than the world to me!

And the burning vehemency of what follows, contrasted with the sombre shading into which the feeling sinks, till it rises again into warmth and ardour, appears to us to be the very essence of poetry.

There are a thousand fanciful things
Linked round the young heart's imaginings.
In its first love-dream, a leaf or a flower
Is gifted then with a spell and a power :
A shade is an omen, a dream is a sign,
From which the maiden can well divine
Passion's whole history. Those only can tell
Who have loved as young hearts can love so well,
How the pulses will beat, and the cheek will be dyed,
When they have some love augury tried.
Ob, it is not for those whose feelings are cold,
Withered by care, or blunted by gold;
Whose brows bave darkened with many years,
To feel again youth's hopes and fears--
What they now might blush to confess,
Ĩ

Zaide watched her flower-bullt vessel glide,
Mirror'd beneath on the deep-blue tide;
Lovely and lonely, scented and bright,
Like llope's own bark, all bloom and light.
There's not one breath of wind on the air,
The Heavens are cloudless, the waters are fair,
No dew is falling, yet woe to that shade!.
The maiden is weeping-her lamp bas decayed.

Hark to the ring of the cymetar!
It tells that the soldier returns from afar.
Down from the mountains the warriors come:
Hark to the thunder roll of the drum !
To the startling voice of the trumpet's call -
To the cymbal's clash!-to the atabal!
The banners of crimson float in the sun,
The warfare is ended, the battle is won.
The mother hath taken the child from her breast,
And raised it to look on its father's crest.
The pathway is lined, as the bands pass along,
With maidens, who meet them with flowers and song,
And Zaide hath forgotten in dzim's arms
All her so false lamp's falser alarms.

This looks not a bridal,--the singers are mute, Still is the mandore, and breathless the lute; Yet tbere the bride sits. Her dark bair is bound, And the robe of her marriage floats white on the

ground. Oh! where is the lover, the bridegroom?+h!

wbere? Look under your black pall—the bridegroom is there! Yet the guests are all bidden, the feast is the same, And the bride plights her troth amid smoke and ’mid

flame! They bave raised the death-pyre of sweet scented

wood, And sprinkled it o'er with the sacred flood of the Ganges. The priests are assembled :-their

song Sinks deep on the ear as they bear her along, That bride of the dead. Ay, is not this love? That one pure wild feeling all others above : Vowed to the living, and kept to the tomb ! The same in its bligbt as it was in its bloom. With no tear in her eye, and no change in her smile Young Zaide had come nigh to the funeral pile. The bells of the dancing-girls ceased from their

sound; Silent they stood by that holiest mound. From a crowd like the sea-waves there came not a

breath, When the maiden stood by the place of death! One moment was given--the last she might spare! To the mother, who stood in her weeping there. She took the jewels that shone on ber band : She took from her dark hair its flowery band,

I loved him as young Genius loves,

When its own wild and radiant heaven Of starry thought burns with the light,

The love, the life, by passion given. I loved him, too, as woman loves

Reckless of sorrow, sin, or scorn : Life bad no evil destiny

That, with him I could not have borne ! I had been nurst in palaces ;

Yet earth had not å spot so drear, That I should not have thought a home

In Paradise, had he been near! How sweet it would have been to dwell, Apart from all, in some green dell Of sunny beauty, leaves and flowers; And nestling birds to sing the hours ! Ĩ But of the woven branches made : Our vesper hymn, the low lone wail The rose hears from the nightingale; And waked at moroing by the call Of music from a waterfall. But not alone in dreams like this, Breathed in the very hope of bliss, I loved: my love had been the same In hushed despair, in open shame. I would have rather been a slave,

In tears, in bondage, by his side, Tban shared in all, if wanting bim,

This world had power to give beside! My heart was withered,mand my heart

Had ever been the world to me;
And love had been the first fond dream,

Whose life was in reality.
I bad sprung from my solitude

Like a young bird upon the wing
To meet the arrow ; so I met

My poisoned shaft of suffering.

Was wan as Grief's eorroded page. And as that bird, with drooping crest

He had no words, he had no smiles, And broken wing, will seek his nest,

No hopes :-his sole employ to brood
But seek in vain ; so vain I sought

Silently over his sick heart
My pleasant home of song and thought,
There was one spell upon my brain,

I saw the hall where, day by day,
Upon my pencil, on my strain ;

He mused his weary life away ;But one face to my colours came ;

It scarcely seem'd a place for woe, My chords replied but to one Dame

But rather like a genie's home. Lorenzo -all seem'd vow'd to thee,

Around were graceful statues ranged, To passion, and to misery!

And pictures shone around the dome,

But there was one-a loveliest one: Another delightful interlude (though One picture brightest of all there! miscalled a Song) is here brought in,

Oh! never did the painter's dream

Shape thing so gloriously fair! but we can only quote the first elo

It was a face the summer day quent stanza :

Is not more radiant in its light! Farewell !-we shall not meet again!

Dark flashing eyes, like the deep stars

Lighting the azure brow of night;
As we are parting now,
I must my beating heart restrain---

A blush like sunrise o'er the rose;
Must veil my burning brow !

A cloud of raven hair, whose shade Oh, I must coldly learn to hide

Was sweet as evening's, and whose curls One thought, all else above

Clustered beneath a laurel braid. Must call upon my woman's pride

She leant upon a harp:-one hand To hide my woman's love !

Wandered, like snow, amid the chords; Check dreams I never may arow;

The lips were opening with such life, Be free, be careless, cold as thou !

You almost heard the silvery words.

She looked a form of light and life,-The song is succeeded by a charm All soul, all passion, and all fire; ing Episode of Leades and Cydippe, A priestess of Apollo's, when whose romantic tale is told with all

The morning beam falls on her lyre ; the author's artless effect. Their un

A Sappbo, or ere love had turned

The heart to stone where once it burned. happy catastrophe leads with conge

But by the picture's side was placed nial transition to that of the Improvis

A funeral urn, on which was traced atrice ; she witnesses the marriage of

The heart's recorded wretchedness ;--Lorenzo to another ; and his history,

And on a tablet bung above, which compelled him to that sacrifice,

Was 'graved one tribute of sad words--is related. He confesses his love for Lorenzo to his Minstrel Love." her, and after some pathetic expressions of sorrow (a few words of which It has lately been repeated by seywe throw into a note*,) the poem eral of our critical guides, that our breaks off, and thus concludes : epoch of poetry has closed. They

have taken up a fanciful theory; and There is a lone and stately ha!1,-

because the minstrel harp of the BosIts master dwells apart from all.

der has been hushed, and the light of A wanderer through Italia's land, One night a refuge there I found.

Childe Harold's flame extinguished, The lightning's flash rolled o'er the sky, they rashly venture to decree, that a.

The torrent rain was sweeping round ; number of silent years must elapse These won me entrance. He was young, before the birth of another era of song. The castle's lord, but pale like age;

We will not pay them so ill a comIris brow, as sculpture beautiful,

'pliment as to believe that they will * That sun has kissed the morning dews,

maintain this opinion after they have I shall not see its twilight close ! That rose is fading in the noon,

read the Improvisatrice. We doubt And I shall not outlive tbat rose!... not the ability to discover some of the Thou wilt remember me, my name Is linked with beauty and with fame.

faults of youthful composition in her The summer airs, tbe sumner sky,

strains ; but we would most sincerely The soothing spell of Music's sigli --Stars in their poetry of night,

pity the person who could notice The silver silence of moonlight --The dim blush of the twilight hours,

them amid the transcendant beauties The fragrance of the bee-kissed flowers ;--- of thought, expression, imagery, and But, more than all, sweet songs will be Thrice sacred unto Love and me.

fervent genius, with the blaze of Lorenzo! be this kiss a spell !

which they are surrounded and illumi My first ---my last! Fail well. Farewell:

pated. · For ourselves, discarding never excels what she has already every idea of such prescribed Augus- done, we can confidently give her the tan ages, we do not hesitate to say, assurance of what the possessor of that in our judgment this volume such talents must most earnestly forms itself an era in our country's covet-Immortality. bright cycle of female poetical fame.

(Besides the chief poem upon which we have

dwelt with so mucb pleasure, there is a sequel of What may spring from the continued about double the extent of miscellaneous pieces,

nf wbich we bave only at present room to say, that cultivation of such promise, it is not

they are devoted to subjects entirely differing in easy to predicate ; but if the author sentiment and subject from each other, and altogeth

er worthy of L. E. L.)

VARIETIES. WHOLESOME DOCTRINE. for authors are in the habit of burThe celebrated Dr. Darwin was so thening their heroines with some moimpressed with a conviction of the ne- tives and cues for passion, and do ccssity of good air, that being very not commonly seek to make statues popular in the town of Derby, once on of them. In the present day, to be a market-day, he mounted a tub, and sure, Mrs. Buon is more likely to be thus addressed the listening crowd: suited than if she turns to the 01

Ye men of Derby, fellow-citizens, ways, the Rowes or to the old times attend to me!-I know you to be in. before them. Poetry and not action genious and industrious mechanics. characterizes the tragic drama of the By your exertions you procure for present age—and description takes yourselves and families the necessaries the place of actual incident. Imoof life: but if you lose your health, gene, in Bertram, was a lady of strict that power of being of use to them must contemplative habits : she talked only cease. This truth all of you know; of the moon and riven hearts-and but I fear some of you do not under- ruined towers and stood through stand how health is to be maintained in five sombre acts the statue of sorrow vigour—this then depends upon your and romance. Here Mrs. Bunn was breathing an uncontaminated air, for at home! Her fine form was never disthe purity of the air becomes destroyed turbed : ber melancholy tones were where many are collected together : never broken : her looks were ever the the effluvia from the body also corrupts same. She scarcely walked in her it. Keep open then the windows of sleep. The audience was lulled into your crowded workshops, and as soon admiration of her; and her fine monoas you rise, open all the windows of tony made her fame. In Fazio, she yoor bed-rooms. Never sleep in a has the same opportunity of looking room without a chimney in it, nor and repeating a long heroic poem; block that up. Inattention to this ad- and the people in the pit catch and vice, be assured, will bring diseases on enjoy their three-and-sixpenny dreams yourselves, and engender among you with the most still and charmed detyphus fever, which is only another light. They sit lulled by the lady's name for putrid fever, which will carry Æolian tones, by the silence of her off your wives and children. Let me features, and by the studied music of again repeat my serious advice,-open the poetry, and are not awakened your windows to let in the fresh air, from their trance until the curtain falls, at least once in the day.-Remember when they seem to bustle and rub their what I say: I speak now without a fee, eyelids, and gape for the Cataract and and can have no other interest than the cattle. Mrs. Bunn has a fine peryour good, in this my advice.”

Son-a deep monotonous but effecMRS. BUNN THE TRAGEDIAN. tive voice and features commanding,

The less Mrs. Bunn has to do, the though not beautiful: we shall be very better she does it. She acts the pas- much surprised, lowever, if she should sive to perfection. There are few ever be able to do more than act poetragedies therefore in which she can try on the stage. But we, like true find a leading character to represent; udges, must bear a wary eye.

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