Written for the Casket.

THE PEASANT BOY.

Glad child! the spring-time of life is thine-
Its blossoming hopes and its clear sunshine;
The shadows of care thou hast never known-
In thy bosom no sorrow hath reared its throne:
With fresh affections, and fancy free,
Existence is spread as a dream to thee;
Thou dost not know that its flowers will fade-
That its radiant skies will be veil'd in shade.

The love of youth in thine eye is hid,-
It flashes forth from its lifted lid;
On thy lip the crimson of childhood lies,
Calm as the blushes of summer skies:
'Thy cheek is fair as a rose of June,
While thy free tongue carols its merry tune :
The peace of a rural life is thine,
Where Nature speaks with her voice divine.

Yes, the light of morning is on thy brow-
It beams from thy smiling presence now;
It reveals the joy of a heart at ease,-
Of a spirit, that Being alone, can please :
Which draws from the future a daily store
Of eloquent visions, unknown before:
Their worth unproved, they appear to thee

[1833.

Written for the Casket.

The Dream of Love.

How like a dream our life appears,
A varying scene of joys and tears-
Of bliss and woe, from which we wake,
Our last fond retrospect to take;
Oh, Love! how like a dream art thou,
Of blasted hope and broken vow.

It has never been determined by metaphysicians and philosophers, which of all the human passions is the strongest. Some have declared in favour of revenge, others in favour of anger and grief; but I am inclined to believe the passion of love far the most powerful, inasmuch as it not only operates itself in many destructive ways, but gives origin to jealousy, a most mysterious and deadly passion. Love levels all the distinctions of society-surmounts all the barriers of parental tyranny, and interested opposition; and if unsuccessful, terminates in jealousy, revenge, or the most bitter and unrelenting

hatred.

Brilliant and sure as reality!

Alas! for life!-as thy years increase,
Will pass from thy bosom its spell of peace;

The hollow world will appear in truth,

Some years since, there resided near one of our large cities a gentleman, by the name of Morland, who, by industrious habits in a mechanical business, had acquired a competence, and had removed to a pleasant seat in the environs of the town. He had one son and a daughter. The son had been educated at West Point,

The revolving seasons will wear no more

The glow that once to thine eye they wore:

And, wearied in spirit, thy glance in vain

Will search for the pleasures of yore again.

the time I speak of, had risen to the honourable rank of a lieutenant. The daughter, Madeline, in her seventeenth summer, was considered beautiful, possessing a mild and amiable disposition, connected with winning, or even bewitch-ing manners; though excessive praise and adoration had made her vain and coquettish, which feelings her mirror had no tendency to suppress. Her form was slender; her features of the Grecian, or rather of the Circassian mould; lips, red as the lotus, and eyes dark, large, and liquid. Yet, the greatest charm Madeline pos

expression, which was the very moonlight of her soul, that beamed upon her face. Her heart was pure, gentle, and refined. She was one of those who, in the language of Moore,

"Would blush when you praised her,
And weep when you blamed."

It cannot then be strange that she should captivate many. Among those who bowed down before her charms, was a young man, of high pretensions, who used every means in his power to obtain the key of her heart. His name was Brown; he was of an enthusiastic nature, and was often heard to say, that he loved her to distraction, and would yield up his life, if she were seriously to demand it, to prove the sincerity of his passion. But Madeline appeared cold and insensible to all the warmth of his protestations, though her father was pleased with the prospect of the alliance. Brown endured his ill success with calmness, until he discovered that a rival suitor was winding himself into the affections of his own heart's idol. He then became distressed and impatient. Wakefield, the rival, had been an apprentice, a few years before, to Morland, and was far inferior in point of fortune, talents, and high respectability, to Brown. This, both knew; and the knowledge mutually made them the greater enemies. Such are the mysteries of love, that no power can bind, and no laws regulate it. Madeline ha i long esteemed the accomplished Brown, and had seriously striven to love him; but in vain. Hence, Brown had been alternately encouraged and discouraged. She had loved Wakefield without a single effort.

So perfectly fascinated was Brown, that he could not rest when absent from her; and a single smile from her fair lips, was sufficient to chase away all his cares, and call back to the dark chamber of his heart, the brilliant hopes of former days. One morning in June, justas Wakefield left the house, he sought her presence, to solicit, for the last time perhaps, her hand and heart. He found her reclining on a sofa, in a splendid dress, reading the Sorrows of Werter. This he thought was a happy opportunity, and pressed her with eloquent language to tell him, for the last time, what he was to depend upon.

"My fate," said he, " is in your hands. You are the mistress of my destiny, and on your lips depends my future happiness, or my eternal ruin. If I am permitted to live in your presence, I shall be the happiest of men; but if you determine otherwise, I am a doomed wretch, and life will no longer be desirable. Dearest Madeline, I have loved you-I now love you, even to distraction, and it remains only for you to pronounce whether I shall live in hope, or die in despair. I await your determination."

As the last words escaped from his lips he sunk upon one knee before her; and grasping her hand with a kind of distracted air, gazed with intense anxiety into her heavenly eyes. Madeline was startled with the quickness of his movement, but the sincerity of his manner, and the earnestness of his gaze, recalled her scattered senses, and aroused her sensitive feelings.

"I have ever esteemed you as a gentleman," said Madeline, blushing to her temples, " but, to

merged in that more devoted feeling, which is ever necessary to render the union of our hearts happy. From my heart I desire, and would fain contribute to your happiness, in any manner that would not have a tendency to render us both miserable. lam perfectly convinced that without mutual affection there is no permanent good in the married state. I, therefore, conjure you to think no more of the past, and to be assured that my warmest friendship shall ever be yours."

"Oh! Madeline," said the distracted youth, "I had rather this moment die in your arms, than resign you forever; yet if fate will have it so death alone will be the soother of my miseries. Long, long has hope supported me, and must it now fly from my desolate heart, even at the command of her whom, most of all others, I love. To secure your happiness, Madeline, I would resign my own; but-farewell-forever."

Madeline wept, and the unhappy young man seized his hat and escaped from the room. Distraction fixed upon him, and every night he paced the yard, before the building, to catch a glimpse of her who was his heart's highest idol. Late on a beautiful summer evening he approached the house, and saw from a window the usual light of Madeline, where he had so often slily stole to gaze unseen upon her charms. He now put silently aside the shrubbery, and advanced to gaze again upon her, to possess whose heart he would have given the wealth of worlds. Softly he put aside the curtain, and beheld Madeline, sitting with her face towards the window, gaily smiling and talking. The glance shewed him the hated form of Wakefield, and his hand involuntarily grasped one of the pistols in his pockets. The arm of Wakefield rested on the chair of Madeline, and Brown bit his lips as he saw him take her small white hand in his, and press her to his bosom. He saw that she resisted not, and he gnashed his teeth with rage and anguish. The next moment he beheld his favoured rival impress upon her balmy lips a kiss, and his heart boiled with jealousy and revenge. He drew the pistol from his pocket, and aimed at the heart of Wakefield; but at that moment they both rose to leave the room, and Madeline's form was interposed between him and his victim.

With a heart full of bitterness, Brown left the spot, and awaited the coming forth of Wakefield.

In

a few minutes he appeared at the door, and from behind a tree in front of the building, he saw the elegant form of Madeline advance, her hand clasped in that of the happy Wakefield. He saw her lean upon his arm, and gaze up in his face; he saw his arm enfold the delicate waist of the charming girl; he saw him again affectionately press her lips, and madness fired his soul. The next moment the warm adieu was uttered, softly-the hand pressed and relinquished, and Wakefield left the house. He had advanced but a few steps, musing upon the luxury and the sweet delirium of love, when the form of Brown emerged from the shade of the shrubbery, and he started. They gazed for a moment, with surprise and bitterness upon each other. "Well met, sir, in such an hour and place as this," muttered Brown, with bitter sternness. "To peep and listen, at such an hour and place