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To Love !- for fiends of hate might see Thou dwell'st in love, and love in thee! What wonder, then, though in thy dreams Thy face with mystic meaning beams !
Oh! that my spirit's eye could see Whence burst those gleams of ecstasy! That light of dreaming soul appears To play from thoughts above thy years. Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring To heaven, and heaven's God adoring! And who can tell what visions high May bless an infant's sleeping eye? What brighter throne can brightness find To reign on than an infant's mind, Ere sin destroy, or error dim, The glory of the seraphim ?
A YOUNG GIRL.
L. E. LANDON.
A BEAUTIFUL and laughing thing,
Alas! that love should ever fling
THE LILY OE THE VALLEY.
J. H. WIFFEN.
Look on that Flower—the Daughter of the Vale,
The Medicean statue of the shade! Her limbs of modest beauty, aspect pale,
Are but by her ambrosial breath betrayed. There, half in elegant relief displayed,
She standeth to our gaze, half shrinking shuns Folding her green scarf like a bashful maid
Around, to screen her from her suitor suns, Not all her many sweets she lavisheth at once.
Locked in the twilight of depending boughs,
When night and day commingle, she doth shoot Where nightingales repeat their marriage vows;
First by retiring, wins our curious foot,
Then charms us by her loveliness to suit
Our contemplation to her lonely cot!
Which shall attract most belgrades to the spot,
Her gloom, the aisle of heavenly solitude ;
Her flower, the vestal Nun who there abideth ; Her breath, that of celestials meekly wooed
From heaven; her leaf, the holy veil which hideth ; Her form, the shrine where purity resideth ;
Spring's darling, nature's pride, the Sylvan's queen. To her at eve enamoured Zephyr glideth,
Trembling, she bids him waft aside her screen, And to his kisses wakes—the Flora of the scene.
MY NATIVE VALE.
In visions and in dreams
The music of your streams :
Where lovers loved to meet;
Thee slumbering at my feet.
In every tree a brother,
The bosom of my mother,
There stands the tottering tower I climbed,
And won the falcon's brood; There flows the stream I've trysted through,
When it was wild in flood !
I mused in youth among,
Forth inconsidered song:
And bright hope on my brow-
Than I have visions now.
I went unto my native vale
Alas! what did I see?
Glad looks once welcomed me:
The music left the brooks,
Was as the voice of rooks ;
The axe had touched the grove,
Remained for me to love.
My native vale, farewell! farewell!
My father, on thy hearth
No longer rings with mirth;
And they are dead and gone
Who charmed my early life--all-all
Sleep 'neath the church-yard stone : There's nought moves save yon round red moon,
Nought lives, but that pure river That lived when I was young-all-all
Are gone-and gone for ever.
Keir with thy pasture mountains green,
Drumlanrig with thy towers ; Carge with thy lily banks and braes,
And Blackwood with thy bowers ;
Of scented thorn and holly,
The night 'tween sense and folly.
The bird, and feed the bee,
No more they'll--gladden me.
I stood within my native vale,
Fast by the river brink,
'Neath shining sickles sink-
Songs of the latter day;
Albeit their locks were grey ;
Men shook their tresses hoary,
“Thou art no heir of glory!"