All's lost-with a start from his rosy sleep waking,
The Spirit flash'd o'er her his glances of fire;
Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking,
Thus said in a voice more of sorrow than ire:

"Farewell-what a dream thy suspicion hath broken ! "Thus ever Affection's fond vision is crost; "Dissolv'd are her spells when a doubt is but spoken, "And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost!"

HERO AND LEANDER.

"THE night-wind is moaning with mournful sigh, "There gleameth no moon in the misty sky,

"No star over Helle's sea;

"Yet, yet, there is shiring one holy light,
"One love-kindled star through the deep of night,
"To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee!"

Thus saying, he plung'd in the foamy stream,
Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam

No eye but a lover's could see;

And still, as the surge swept over his head,
"To-night," he said tenderly, "living or dead,
"Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee!"

But fiercer around him the wild waves speed;
Oh, Love in that hour of thy votary's need,
Where, where could thy Spirit be?

He struggles-he sinks-while the hurricane's breath
Bears rudely away his last farewell in death

THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN.

"TELL me, kind Seer, I pray thee,

"So may the stars obey thee, "So may each airy

"Moon-elf and fairy

"Nightly their homage pay thee! "Say, by what spell, above, below, "In stars that wink or flow'rs that blow,

"I may discover,

"Ere night is over,

"Whether my love loves me or no,

"Whether my love loves me.'

"Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee

"Hath charms no gold could buy thee; "Its stem enchanted,

"By moon-elves planted,

"Will all thou seek'st supply thee.

"Climb to yon boughs that highest grow,

66

Bring thence their fairest leaf below;

"And thou'lt discover,

"Ere night is over,

"Whether thy love loves thee or no,

"Whether thy love loves thee."

"See, up the dark tree going,
"With blossoms round me blowing,

"From thence, oh Father,

"This leaf I gather,

"Fairest that there is growing.

"Say, by what sign I now shall know
"If in this leaf lie bliss or woe;

"And thus discover,

"Ere night is over,

"Whether my love loves me or no,
"Whether my love loves me."

"Fly to yon fount that's welling,
"Where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling,

"Dip in its water

"That leaf, oh Daughter,

"And mark the tale 'tis telling ;1
"Watch thou if pale or bright it grow,

"List thou, the while, that fountain's flow,
"And thou❜lt discover

"Whether thy lover,

"Lov'd as he is, loves thee or no,

"Lov'd as he is, loves thee."

Forth flew the nymph, delighted,
To seek that fount benighted;

But, scarce a minute

The leaf lay in it,

When, lo, its bloom was blighted!

And as she ask'd, with voice of woe

List'ning, the while, that fountain's flow

'The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat similar to this; and we find the Emperor Adrian, when he went to consult the Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay-leaf and dipping it into the sacred water.

The fountain seem'd to answer, "No;"

The fountain answer'd, "No."

CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS.

A HUNTER once in that grove reclin'd,
To shun the noon's bright eye,
And oft he woo'd the wandering wind,
To cool his brow with its sigh.
While mute lay ev'n the wild bee's hum,
Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair
His song was still "Sweet Air, oh come!"
While Echo answer'd, "Come, sweet Air!"

But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise! What meaneth that rustling spray? ""Tis the white-horn'd doe," the Hunter cries, "I have sought since break of day." Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs, The arrow flies from his sounding bow, “Hilliho-hilliho!" he gaily sings, While Echo sighs forth "Hilliho!"

Alas, 'twas not the white-horn'd doe
He saw in the rustling grove,
But the bridal veil, as pure as snow,
Of his own young wedded love.

And, ah, too sure that arrow sped,

For pale at his feet he sees her lie;

"I die, I die," was all she said,

While Echo murmur'd, "I die, I die!"

YOUTH AND AGE.'

"TELL me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day,
To drooping Age, who crost his way.

"It is a sunny hour of play,

"For which repentance dear doth pay;

"Repentance! Repentance!

"And this is Love, as wise men say."

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once more,

Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore.

"Soft as a passing summer's wind:

"Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind?

"Repentance! Repentance!

"And this is Love when love is o'er.".

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth again,

Trusting the bliss, but not the pain.

"Sweet as a May-tree's scented air.

"Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear,

"Repentance! Repentance!

"This, this is Love-sweet Youth, beware."

1 The air, to which I have adapted these words, was composed by Mrs. Arkwright to some old verses, "Tell me what's love, kind shepherd, pray? ?" and it has been my object to retain as much of the structure and phraseology of the original words as possible.