I turn my restless eyes in vain
For him who ne'er can praise again;
And each new theme they blindly seek
With new reproaches burns my cheek,
Memorial of the worthless store, 1
Denied to him who loved me more
Than these may feign or I may speak.
In truth, methinks, though spring hath shed
Her gems of purple o'er his bed,

In true-love tones he tells me still
A story of unearthly thrill,

And gives me gleams of scenes so bright,
My shrinking fancy veils her sight-
And well I know these scenes are mine,
If sacred still my promise be,

Thus nought was wanting to my bliss,

Except that thou should'st know how near

Thy spirit kept his watch; but this

To mortal eyes might ne'er appear;

And for this single joy withheld,

I sicken'd like a child of death,

Until the gloom was all dispell'd

By words that were not made of breath. "Oh come," they said, "no more forlorn!

Thy watch is done, thy charge is free! Now learn how hearts that time hath torn Unite in immortality."

With that I bent me o'er thy face,

Where slumber like a god was throned, To steal thy spirit's first embrace,

And tell of all thy griefs atoned.

gave,

Yet, ere the signal kiss I

One instant on the rosy brink

I paused to see, like summer wave,
Thy beauteous bosom rise and sink.
And who, methought, would e'er be curst
In such a world as this to stay,
Where all that's fairest is the first
To mock his hopes and melt away;
And nought but disappointment sure,
And nought but sin and sorrow lasting-
Oh who, methought, would e'er endure
Its hour of bliss, its age of blasting?
I paused no more; the kiss was seal'd,
And fate and all its fears defying,
Thy wondering spirit stood reveal'd,
Unchanged in aught except undying;
And to my heart thy heart was prest,

All bashful, beauteous, undenying,
And on my lips thy lips confess'd

The tale that had no voice but sighing;
And on mine eyes thine eyes did rest,

To speechless question speechlessly replying;
Whiles on thine own blue dwelling turning,

Whiles on the form which late had staid thee

Now first with angel blushes learning

How gloriously the heavens had made thee!

"Twas thus our spirits met at last,

Earth and its mem'ry thus we pass'd,

Upon the breath of rapture fleeing,

Intense and endless as our being.

18

LADY BETTY'S POCKET-BOOK.

"Into it, Knight, thou must not look.”—SCOTT.

I PASSED my five-and-twentieth birth-day at Oakenshade. Sweet sentimental age! Dear, deeply regretted place! Oakenshade is the fairest child of Father Thames, from Gloucestershire to Blackwall. She is the very queen of cottages, for she has fourteen best bed-rooms, and stabling for a squadron. Her trees are the finest in Europe, and her inhabitants the fairest in the world. Her old mistress is the Lady Bountiful of the country, and her young mistresses are the prides of it. Lady Barbara is black-eyed and hyacinthine, Lady Betty blue-eyed and Madonna-wised.

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In situations of this kind it is absolutely necessary for man to fall in love, and in due compliance with established customs, I fell in love both with Lady Betty and Lady Barbara. Now Barbara was a soft-hearted, high-minded rogue, and pretended, as I thought, not to care for me, that she might not interfere with the interests of her sister; and Betty was a reckless, giddy-witted baggage, who cared for nobody and nothing upon earth except the delightful occupation of doing what she pleased. Accordingly, we became the Romeo and Juliet of the place, excepting that I never could sigh, and she never could apostrophize. Nevertheless, we loved terribly. Oh, what a time was that! I will just give a sample of a day.-We rose at seven (it was July), and wandered amongst moss roses, velvet lawns, and sequestered summer-houses, till the lady-mother summoned us to the breakfast-table. I know not how it was, but the footman on these occasions always found dear Barbara absent on a butterfly chase, gathering flowers, or feeding her pet robin, and Betty and myself on a sweet

honeysuckle seat, just big enough to hold two, and hidden round a happy corner as snug as a bird's nest. The moment the villain came within hearing, I used to begin in an audible voice to discourse upon the beauties of nature, and Betty allowed me to be the best moral philosopher of the age. After breakfast we used to retire to the young ladies' study, in which blest retreat I filled some hundred pages of their albums, whilst Betty looked over my shoulder, and Barbara hammered with all her might upon the grand piano, that we might not be afraid to talk. I was acknowledged to be the prince of poets and riddle-mongers, and in the graphic art, I was a prodigy perfectly unrivalled. Sans doute, I was a little overrated. My riddles were so plain, and my metaphors so puzzling-and then my trees were like mountains, and my men were like monkeys. But love has such penetrating optics! Lady Betty could perceive beauties to which the rest of the world were perfectly blind, and, for hours together, I have felt the little white hand resting upon me, and the "wee bit mou"" exhaling its perfumes within half a quarter of an inch of my temples. It was a perilous situation. It used to take away my breath-even Betty's was drawn shorter, and she would remove her hand and hail Barbara through the thunders of Kalkbrenner, as much as to say that things were in a dangerous state, and it was time to take a ride. Now Barbara was a good horsewoman, and Betty was a bad one; consequently, Barbara rode a pony, and Betty rode a donkey; consequently, Barbara rode a mile before, and Betty rode a mile behind; and, consequently, it was absolutely necessary for me to keep fast hold of Betty's hand, for fear she should tumble off. Thus did we journey through wood and through valley, by flood and by field, through the loveliest and most lovemaking scenes that ever figured in rhyme or on canvass.

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The trees never looked so green, the flowers never smelt so sweet, and the exercise and the fears of her high-mettled palfrey gave my companion a blush which is quite beyond the reach of simile. Of course, we always lost ourselves, and trusted to Barbara to guide us home, which she generally did by the most circuitous routes she could find. At dinner the lady-mother would inquire what had become of us, but none of us could tell where we had been excepting Barbara. "Why Betty, my dear, you understood our geography well enough when you were guide to our good old friend the General!" Ah, but Betty found it was quite a different thing to be guide to her good young friend the captain; and her explanation was generally a zigzag sort of performance, which outdid the best riddle in her album. It was the custom of the lady-mother to take a nap after dinner, and having a due regard for her, we always left her to this enjoyment as soon as possible. Sometimes we floated in a little skiff down the broad and tranquil river, which, kindled by the setting sun, moved onward like a stream of fire, tuning our voices to glees and duetts, till the nightingales themselves were astonished. Oh, the witchery of bright eyes at sunset and music on the water! Sometimes we stole through the cavernous recesses of the old oak wood, conjuring up fawns and satyrs at every step, and sending Barbara to detect the deceptions, and play at hide and seek with us. At last our mistress the moon would open her eye and warn us home, where, on the little study sofa, we watched her progress, repeated sweet poesy, and told ghost stories till we frightened ourselves under one another's wings, like chickens in a storm. Many a time did. I long to break the footman's head when he brought the lights, and announced the tea. The lady-mother never slept after this, and the business of the day was ended.