And to the covert by that silent stream,
Which, with one star reflected o'er its marge,
Was the sole object visible around me.

No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirr'd ;-yet pleasure hung upon
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air.
A little further on an arbor stood,

Fragrant with flowering trees-I well remember
What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness

Their snow-white blossoms made thither she led me,
To that sweet bower-Then Oropeza trembled―
I heard her heart beat-if 'twere not my own.

SANDOVAL.

A rude and scaring note, my friend!

Earl HENRY.

Oh! no!

I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of love:
So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature,
Fleeing from Pain, shelter'd herself in Joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,

Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us ::
We were all life, each atom of our frames

A living soul-I vow'd to die for her:

With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it:

That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard,
A murmur breathed against a lady's ear.
Oh! there is joy above the name of pleasure,
Deep self-possession, an intense repose.

SANDOVAL (with a sarcastic smile).

No other than as eastern sages paint,

The God, who floats upon a Lotos leaf,
Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking,

Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble,
Relapses into bliss.

Earl HENRY.

Ah! was that bliss

Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?

For suddenly, impatient of its silence,

Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead.

I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them. Thro' the dark bower she sent a hollow voice,

Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?.

I swore, and with an inward thought that seem'd

The purpose and the substance of my being,

I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,
I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.-
Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower
I now will go-all objects there will teach me
Unwavering love, and singleness of heart.

Go, Sandoval! I am prepar'd to meet her-
Say nothing of me-I myself will seek her-

Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment
And keen inquiry of that scanning eye.-

[Earl HENRY retires into the wood.

SANDOVAL (alone.)

O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great
By thine own act-yet art thou never great

But by the inspiration of great passion.

The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up

And shape themselves: from Earth to Heaven they

stand,

As tho' they were the pillars of a temple,

Built by Omnipotence in its own honor!
But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit
Is fled the mighty columns were but sand,
And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,

Whom the Author had known in the days of her Innocence.

MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soil'd beneath the common tread,
Far from thy protecting spray !

When the Partridge o'er the sheaf
Whirr'd along the yellow vale,

Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!
Love the dalliance of the gale.

Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs,

While the flatterer, on his wing,

Wooed and whisper'd thee to rise.

Gaily from thy mother-stalk

Wert thou danced and wafted high

Soon on this unshelter'd walk

Flung to fade, to rot and die.

ΤΟ

AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN

At the Theatre.

MAIDEN, that with sullen brow
Sitt'st behind those virgins gay,
Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough,
Leafless 'mid the blooms of May!

Him who lured thee and forsook,
Oft I watch'd with angry gaze,

Fearful saw his pleading look,
Anxious heard his fervid phrase.

Soft the glances of the youth,

Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; But no sound like simple truth,

But no true love in his eye.