Thus learn, that on this varied ball, Whate'er can breathe and move, The meanest, lornest, thing of all— Still owns its right to love.

With no fair round of household cares

Will my lone hearth be blest,

Never the snow of my old hairs

Will touch a loving breast;

No darling pledge of spousal faith
Shall I be found possessing,

To whom a blessing with my breath
Would be a double blessing:

But yet my love with sweets is rife,
With happiness it teems,

It beautifies my waking life,
And waits upon my dreams;

A shape that floats upon the night,
Like foam upon the sea,—
A voice of seraphim, -a light
Of present Deity!

I hide me in the dark arcade,
When she walks forth alone,-

I feast upon her hair's rich braid,—
Her half-unclasped zone :

I watch the flittings of her dress,
The bending boughs between,-
I trace her footsteps' faery press
On' the scarcely ruffled green.

Oh deep delight! the frail guitar
Trembles beneath her hand,

She sings a song she brought from far,

I cannot understand;

Her voice is always as from heaven,

But yet I seem to hear

Its music best, when thus 'tis given

All music to my ear.

She' has turned her tender eyes around, And seen me crouching there,

And smiles, just as that last full sound

Is fainting on the air;

And now, I can go forth so proud,

And raise my head so tall.

My heart within me beats so loud,

And musical withal :

And there is summer all the while,
Mid-winter tho' it be,-

How should the universe not smile,
When she has smiled on me?

For tho' that smile can nothing more

Than merest pity prove,

Yet pity, it was sung of yore,

Is not so far from love.

From what a crowd of lovers' woes

My weakness is exempt!

How far more fortunate than those

Who mark me for contempt!

No fear of rival happiness

My fervent glory smothers,

The zephyr fans me none the less
That it is bland to others.

Thus without share in coin or land,

But well content to hold

The wealth of Nature in my hand,
One flail of virgin gold,—

My Love above me like a sun,-
My own bright thoughts my wings,—
Thro' life I trust to flutter on,

As gay as aught that sings.

One hour I own I dread,-to die
Alone and unbefriended,—

No soothing voice, no tearful eye,—

But that must soon be ended;

And then I shall receive my part

Of everlasting treasure,

In that just world where each man's heart

Will be his only measure.

THE VIOLET-GIRL.

WHEN Fancy will continually rehearse Some painful scene once present to the eye, 'Tis well to mould it into gentle verse,

That it may lighter on the spirit lie.

I

Home yester-eve I wearily returned,

Though bright my morning mood and short my way,
But sad experience in one moment earned,
Can crush the heape'd enjoyments of the day.

Passing the corner of a popu'lous street,

I marked a girl whose wont it was to stand,
With pallid cheek, torn gown, and naked feet,
And bunches of fresh Violets in each hand.

There her small commerce in the chill March weather

She plied with accents miserably mild;

It was a frightful thought to set together

Those healthy blossoms and that fading child :

-

-Those luxuries and largess of the earth, Beauty and pleasure to the sense of man, And this poor sorry weed cast loosely forth On Life's wild waste to struggle as it can !

To me that odo'rous purple ministers
Hope-bearing memories and inspiring glee,
While meanest images alone are hers,
The sordid wants of base humanity.

Think after all this lapse of hungry hours,

In the disfurnished chamber of dim cold,
How she must loathe the very scented flowers
That on the squalid table lie unsold !

Rest on your woodland banks and wither there,
Sweet preluders of Spring! far better so,
Than live misused to fill the grasp of care,
And serve the piteous purposes of woe.

Ye are no longer Nature's gracious gift,
Yourselves so much and harbingers of more,
But a most bitter irony to lift

The veil that hides our vilest mortal sore.

THE OLD MANORIAL HALL.

WHEN She was born I had been long the garde’ner of the Hall, The shrubs I planted with my hand were rising thick and tall ; My heart was in that work and place, and little thought or care Had I of other living things than grew and flourished there, Beneath the happy shelter of

The old Manorial Hall.

At first she came a rosy child, a queen among my flowers,
And played beside me while I worked, and prattled on for hours;
And, many a morning, in the plot of ground she called her own,
She found an unexpected show of blossoms freshly blown,

And sent her merry echoes through

Her old Manorial Hall.

Thus fifteen summers, every day, I tended her and them,
I watched the opening of the bud, the shooting of the stem ;
And when her childly laughter turned to silent maiden smiles,
I felt in Heaven whene'er she passed, and scarce on earth the
whiles.

How could I ever think to leave

My old Manorial Hall?

One day when Autumn's last delights were nipped by early cold, It fell like Death upon mine ear that She was bought and sold ;—