How often have we past the noon
Beneath thy pine-trees' shade,

When arching bough, and dark green leaf,
A natural temple made;

Haunt of some young divinity,

And more than such she seemed to me.

So very fair, oh! how I blest
The gentle southern clime,
That to the beauty of her cheek
Had brought back summer time.
Alas! 'twas but a little while,—
The promise of an April smile.

Again her clear brow turned too clear;
Her bright cheek turned too bright;
And her eyes, but for tenderness,
Had been too full of light.

It was as if her beauty grew

More heavenly as it heavenward drew.

Long years have past, and toil and care
Have sometimes been to me,
What in my earliest despair

I dreamt not they could be;
But here the past comes back again,
Oh! why so utterly in vain?

I stood here in my happy days,
And every thing was fair;
I stand now in my altered mood,
And marvel what they were.

Fair Tivoli, to me the scene

No longer is what it has been.

There is a change come o'er thy hills,
A shadow o'er thy sky;

The shadow is from my own heart,
The change is in my own eye:
It is our feelings give their tone
To whatsoe'er we gaze upon.

Back to the stirring world again,
Its tumult and its toil;

Better to tread the roughest path,
Than such a haunted soil:

Oh! wherefore should I break the sleep
Of thoughts whose waking is to weep.

Yes, thou art lovely, but, alas !

Not lovely as of yore,

And of thy beauty I but ask

To look on it no more.

Earth does not hold a spot for me

So sad as thou, fair Tivoli.

LONG AGO!

MRS. NORTON.

LONG ago! oh, long ago!—

Do not those words recall past years, And, scarcely knowing why they flow, Force to the eyes unbidden tears?

Do ye not feel, as back they come,

Those dim sweet dreams of olden days, A yearning to your childhood's home, Peopled with tones of love and praiseLong, long ago!

Long ago! when many a sound

Awoke to mirth which saddens now, And many an eye was sparkling round That weeps beneath a darkened brow: When with our whole young happy hearts We loved and laughed away the time, Nor thought how quickly all departs, So cherished in life's early primeLong, long ago!

Long ago! the hopes we nurst

Of happiness, of earthly fame,
Were bright as bubbles are that burst-
A glittering drop, an empty name!
Oh, but to be one hour again

(Whatever that sweet hour might cost) Free from dim mem'ry's torturing pain, With those we loved--and those we lost

Long, long ago!

Long ago! who breathes there here

O'er whom the past had no such power! Young heart! if now thy sky is clear,

Beware, beware the future hour! Perchance the chords that echo now

In after years thou'lt hear again,

And gazing on each faded brow,

Wilt sighing say, "I heard that strain

Long, long ago!"

LINES TO A YOUNG LADY, ON HER
MARRIAGE.

FITZGERALD.

THEY tell me, gentle lady, that they deck thee for a

bride,

That the wreath is woven for thy hair, the bridegroom by thy side;

And I think I hear thy father's sigh, thy mother's calmer tone,

As they give thee to another's arms-their beautifultheir own.

I never saw a bridal but my eyelid hath been wet, And it always seemed to me as though a joyous crowd were met

To see the saddest sight of all, a gay and girlish thing Lay aside her maiden gladness-for a name—and for a ring.

And other cares will claim thy thoughts, and other hearts thy love,

And gayer friends may be around, and bluer skies above; Yet thou, when I behold thee next, may'st wear upon thy brow,

Perchance, a mother's look of care, for that which decks it now.

And when I think how often I have seen thee with

thy mild

And lovely look, and step of air, and bearing like a child, Oh! how mournfully, how mournfully the thought comes o'er my brain,

When I think thou ne'er may'st be that free and girlish thing again.

I would that as my heart dictates, just such might be my lay,

And my voice should be a voice of mirth, a music like

the May;

But it may not be !-within my breast all frozen are the springs,

The murmur dies upon the lip, the music on the strings.

But a voice is floating round me, and it tells me in my rest,

That sunshine shall illume thy path, that joy shall be thy guest,

Thy life shall be a summer's day, whose ev'ning shall go down,

Like the ev'ning in the eastern clime, that never knows a frown.

When thy foot is at the altar, when the ring hath press'd thy hand,

When those thou lov'st, and those that love thee, weeping round thee stand,

Oh! may the rhyme that friendship weaves, like a spirit of the air,

Be o'er thee at that moment-for a blessing and a prayer!