Go, go-an age of vulgar years

May now be pined, be sigh'd away, Before one blessed hour appears,

Like that which we have lost to-day!

AT NIGHT.*

Ar night, when all is still around,
How sweet to hear the distant sound

Of footstep, coming soft and light!
What pleasure in the anxious beat,
With which the bosom flies to meet

That foot that comes so soft at night!

And then, at night, how sweet to say
“'Tis late, my love!" and chide delay,

Though still the western clouds are bright;

Oh! happy too the silent press,

The eloquence of mute caress,

With those we love exchanged at night!

* These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its device a Cupid, with the words "at night" written over him.

At night, what dear employ to trace,
In fancy, every glowing grace

That's hid by darkness from the sight!
And guess, by every broken sigh,
What tales of bliss the shrouded eye
Is telling from the soul, at night!

ΤΟ

I OFTEN wish that thou wert dead,
And I beside thee calmly sleeping ;
Since love is o'er and passion fled,

And life has nothing worth our keeping!

No-common souls may bear decline

Of all that throbb'd them once so high; But hearts that beat like thine and mine, Must still love on-love on or die!

'Tis true, our early joy was such,

That nature could not bear th' excess! It was too much-for life too muchThough life be all a blank with less!

To see that eye, so cold, so still,

Which once, oh God! could melt in bliss

No, no, I cannot bear the chill!

Hate, burning hate were Heaven to this!

END OF VOLUME 11.

FIBRARY