Yet trace these faded lines; for they impart Look here!—It will not harm ye, though your thought To each light heart, home be the lesson brought, And is this all? No;-ye may learn beside, Save Heaven, had ne'er a friend to lift her eye ; But Heaven returned the glance, and taught her how to die! Poems edited by Miss Baillie. SONNET. CHOSEN of thee, henceforth I consecrate Whate'er of life remains to soothe thy grief; And I will weep with thee like a fond mate, With tears to sorrow ministering relief:— And, if it please thee, I will change the measure To joy and playfully I'll while away Thy care, and bid a sunny smile to play Upon thy cheek, suffused once more with pleasure :- C. STANZAS TO AN OLD FRIEND. COME, here's a health to thee and thine! Like that famed hill in western clime, With purple gleam the evening air; So there's a joy in former days, In times, and scenes, and thoughts gone by, As beautiful their heads they raise, Bright in Imagination's sky. Time's glass is filled with varied sand, With fleeting joy and transient grief; We'll turn, and with no sparing hand, O'er many a strange fantastic leaf; And fear not but, 'mid many a blot, There are some pages written fair, And flowers that time can wither not, Preserved, still faintly fragrant there. As the hushed night glides gentlier on, Shall waken many a slumbering thrill, Of faded joys remembered still. Again, the moments shall she bring, And, as the mariner can find Wild pleasure in the voiced roar That wrecked his every hope before; We'll hear the strains we heard so soft, As summer dews on summer flowers! O'er which they floated long ago. Even in our morn, when fancy's eye Glanced, sparkling o'er a world of bliss, When joy was young, and hope was high, We could not feel much more than this: Howe'er, then, time our day devours, Why should our smiles be overcast ? Why should we grieve for fleeting hours? We find a future in the past. Blackwood's Magazine. T. D. AN ARABIAN SONG, FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE RELATED BY AN ORIENTAL TRAVELLER. BY MRS. HEMANS. AWAY! though still thy sword is red, Though on my heart, 'twould fall more blest, I've sought thee 'midst the haunts of men,— I've sought thee by the lion's den, Thy name hath been a baleful spell, No thought may dream, no words may tell This hollow cheek, this faded eye, Are seals of thee-behold, and fly! Haste thee, and leave my threshold-floor, Let not thy presence tempt me more— Away! I bear a fettered arm, A heart that burns-but must not harm! Hath not my cup for thee been poured, What though unknown-yet who shall rest Begone! outstrip the fleet Gazelle ! As vengeance shall pursue! To-morrow-and the avenger's hand, Fly! may the desert's fiery blast And fettered, till thy steps be past, I would not, that thy doom should be A PERSIAN PRECEPT. BY HERBERT KNOWLES. FORGIVE thy foes;-nor that alone; So does the fragrant Sandal bow |