May give thee welcome from thine own blue skies,

Daughter of victory !-a triumphant strain, A proud rich stream of warlike melodies,

Gush'd thro' the portals of the antique fane,

And forth she came.

-Then rose a nation's sound

Oh! what a power to bid the quick heart bound,
The wind bears onward with the stormy cheer
Man gives to glory on her high career !
Is there indeed such power ?--far deeper dwells
In one kind household voice, to reach the cells
Whence happiness flows forth !- The shouts that fill'd
The hollow heaven tempestuously, were still’d
One moment ; and in that brief pause, the tone,
As of a breeze that o’er her home had blown,
Sank on the bright maid's heart.--" Joanne !"-—Who

spoke Like those whose childhood with her childhood grew Under one roof? "Joanne !”--that murmur broke

With sounds of weeping forth !--She turn'd-she

Beside her, mark'd from all the thousands there,
In the calm beauty of his silver hair,
The stately shepherd; and the youth, whose joy
From his dark eye flash'd proudly; and the boy,
The youngest-born, that ever lov'd her best ;
“ Father! and ye, my brothers !"--On the breast
Of that grey sire she sank--and swiftly back,
Ev’n in an instant, to their native track
Her free thoughts flowed. She saw the pomp no

more

The plumes, the banners :-to her cabin-door,
And to the Fairy's fountain in the glade, 6
Where her young sisters by her side had play'd,
And to her hamlet's chapel, where it rose
Hallowing the forest unto deep repose,
Her spirit turn'd. The very wood-note, sung

In early spring-time by the bird, which dwelt
Where o'er her father's roof the beech-leaves hung,

Was in her heart ; a music heard and felt,

Winning her back to nature. She unbound

The helm of many battles from her head, And, with her bright locks bow'd to sweep the ground,

Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said, “ Bless me, my father, bless me! and with thee, To the still cabin and the beechen-tree,

Let me return !"

Oh! never did thine eye

Thro' the green haunts of happy infancy
Wander again, Joanne !—too much of fame
Had shed its radiance on thy peasant name ;
And bought alone by gifts beyond all price,
The trusting heart's repose, the paradise
Of home with all its loves, doth fate allow
The crown of glory unto woman's brow.

PAULINE

To die for what we love !-Oh! there is power
In the true heart, and pride, and joy, for this ;
It is to live without the vanish'd light
That strength is needed.

Cosí trapassa al trapassar d'un Giorno
Della vita mortal il fiore e'l verde.

Tasso,

Along the star-lit Seine went music swelling,

Till the air thrill'd with its exulting mirth ;

Proudly it fluated, even as if no dwelling

For cares or stricken hearts were found on earth ;

And a glad sound the measure lightly beat,
A happy chime of many dancing feet.

For in a palace of the land that night,

Lamps, and fresh roses, and green leaves were hung, And from the painted walls a stream of light

On flying forms beneath soft splendour flung :
But loveliest far amidst the revel's pride
Was one, the lady from the Danube-side.?

Pauline, the meekly bright !-tho' now no more

Her clear eye flash'd with youth's all tameless glee, ; Yet something holier than its dayspring wore,

There in soft rest lay beautiful to see ;
A charm with graver, tenderer, sweetness fraught
The blending of deep love and matron thought.

Thro’ the gay throng she moved, serenely fair,

And such calm joy as fills a moonlight sky, Sate on her brow beneath its graceful hair,

As her young daughter in the dance went by, With the fleet step of one that yet hath known Smiles and kind voices in this world alone.