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Amid the “hears” of the applauding House, Replied the weak voice of our hungry Mouse : “ Your reasoning may for Rats indeed suffice; “ But 0, great Sir! you quite forget the Mice !"

TO INA.

Our hour is past—and I must bear

The fate thou canst not soothe-alone:
And woo whatever steps may wear

The green moss from the stone;---
For whose the thoughts that round me twine
One soft-one fresh remembrance ?-thine !

But tell me not in crowds to prove

How vain is all that Pride would claim ;
The charm of life that's lost in Love

Is never found in Fame;
When once the film is from the eyes,
Truth leaves the fancy nought to prize!

Yet fain my heart would seek' show

It was not all unworthy thine,

And Fame were sweet if thou could’st know

Thy memory made it mine.
Thy memory!-can I think that word,
While life is thine, from me is heard ?

And yet it soothes—since thou didst form

Thy nest upon so rude a tree,
It soothes me, henceforth, that the storm

Can only fall on me!
With thee life's very verdure past-
To withered stems what boots the blast!

Away the lyre !--it hath no strain

In which a love like ours should speak; But we may never meet again,

For hearts-like ties—will break ;And I would fain that thou should'st see That mine-till broken-is with thee!

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TO INA IN ABSENCE.

(FOUR YEARS AFTER THE LAST.)

Thou only hast been more to me

Than aught my prophet dreams foretold; The wildest thoughts when turned to thee,

My memory mocks as cold.
In earlier loves, my strain would tell

Of burning hopes, and wasting sighs ;
But when I think of thee, I feel

The tears are in my eyes. 'Tis strangely sweet on thee to muse;

A sweet, yet scarce a glad, emotion ;
For nought the rising heart subdues

Like Love's recalled devotion.
In silent depth, the thoughts that form,

Their tides above thine image swell; And thou protect'st them from the storm,

Sweet Spirit of the Well !
Thou tell’st me thou canst scarce believe

My heart the record of my vow;
Thou’dst think no more it could deceive,

Didst thou behold it now!

Thou tellst me thou wilt scarcely deem

Thy thought can reach me from afar;
What! doubt the light upon the stream,

Go-doubt thyself, my star!
Yet is there that—and right thou art-

Whose warmth, whose brightness can reprove,
And shame the love within my heart,

It is the heart I love !

ORAMA,

OR THE SOUL AND ITS FUTURE.

Thin, shadowy, scarce divided from the light,

I saw a Phantom at the birth of morn : Its robe was sable, but a fleecy white

Flowed silvery o'er the garb of gloom: a horn It held within its hand;—no human breath Stirred its wan lips ;-death-like, it seemed not death!

My heart lay numb within me—and the glow Of the glad life waxed faint, and ice-like crept ;

The pulses of my being seemed to grow One awe !-voice fled the body as it slept,

But from its startled depths, the' o'erlaboured Soul Spake, king-like, out—" What art Thou that would'st seem

“ To have o'er Immortality control ?" And the shape answerednot by sound“ A DREAM!

A Dream—but not a Dream ! the Shade of Things

“ To come; a Spirit from the thrones of Fate, “ I ruled the hearts of Earth's primæval Kings;

“ I gave their life its impulse and its date; “ Grey Wisdom paled before me; and the Stars

“Were made my weird Interpreters—my hand “ Aroused the whirlwind of the destined wars,

“ And bowed the Nations to my dim command ! “ A Dream, but not a Dream-a type, a sign

“Of the vast Future do I come to thee ! “ And where I come, I AM THE FUTURE! Thine,

6 Behold, and tremble to behold, in ME. “ What, thou would'st rise ?—the lesser flights of Fame

“ Content thee not—thy heart hath grown a fire, “ And the arch priest Ambition feeds the flame

“ With the prophetic laurel'* of desire. “ And in the Air; and on the voiceless Earth,

“ Thou seek’st an omen, and believ'st a hope; 6 And thy chained spirit from the bonds of Birth

“ Looks to the mighty Heaven—and pines for scope ! “ Hark, hark- I tell thee that the unsheathed blade

“ Shall break—if strife redeem it from its rust; “ Hark, hark !—I tell thee that the wreath is laid

“Upon the bier !—now grasp it—and be dust!" “ Methought my soul did answer • Come the strife“The bier !-Life's ends have nobler things than life!

* MaVTIKOV PUTOV.

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