The maid refuses not the flower,

Though silently she turns away ; Before she knew what she had done, It on her bosom lay.

O heaven! the longest, brightest life Can bring but one such hour as this! The first confession of deep love

Sealed with a bashful kiss!

Beneath yon tall and branching oak
The lady and her love recline;
The sweetest of the forest shrubs
Around their heads entwine.
They linger till the thrush has piped
His farewell flourish to the breeze,
Till the romantic moon gleams through
The foliage of the trees.

Within the chapel on the cliff

An altar green and mouldering stands, And by it, in their innocence,

They join their hearts and hands. Louise! my first and last adored! Upon this well-remembered spot, I pledged the faith which death hath tried; Hath tried-but shaken not. Louise! the pensive primrose here, In spring-time weeps upon thy grave, Meet-bushes, trained by willing hands, Above thy head-stone wave.

Still to this consecrated place

My faltering steps are duly bound;
A miser pale, that steals to watch
His treasure's burial ground.

All cheerful sights, all gladsome sounds,
Are grievous to my sense and soul;
The tides of life and bliss have ceased
With vernal strength to roll :

And yet, the dream that I have dreamt
Of days when thou, Louise, wert mine,
Should yield me many a grateful thought—
Not teach me to repine.

THE QUARREL OF FRIENDS.
S. T. COLERIDGE.

ALAS! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;

And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love,

Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.

Each spake words of high disdain

And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted-ne'er to meet again! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining. They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once had been.

BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

BYRON.

THERE was a sound of a revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men:
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !

Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet-
But hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, nearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar !

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,

Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"the foe! they come! they come !"

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :-
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,

And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,

Over the unreturning brave,-alas !

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

Of living valour, rolling on the foe

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay;
The midnight brought the signal sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms, the day
Battle's magnificently stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
The earth is covered thick with other clay,

Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,--friend, foe,-in one red burial blent!

ECLIPSE OF THE SUN.

WORDSWORTH.

HIGH on her speculative tower

Stood Science, waiting for the hour
When Sol was destined to endure
That dark'ning of his radiant face
Which Superstition strove to chase,
Erewhile, with rites impure.

Afloat beneath Italian skies,
Through regions fair as Paradise,
We gaily passed,-till Nature wrought
A silent and unlooked-for change,
That checked the desultory range
Of joy and sprightly thought.