Oh! lovely the print of those delicate feet
O'er his luminous path will appear-
Fly, fly, my beloved! this island is sweet,
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here!

LOVE AND REASON.

"Quand l'homme commence a raisonner, il cesse de sentir.??

J J. Rosseau.*

"TWAS in the summer time, so sweet,

When hearts and flowers are both in season, That-who, of all the world, should meet, One early dawn, but Love and Reason?

Love told his dream of yester-night,

While reason talk'd about the weather; The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright, And on they took their way together.

The boy in many a gambol flew,
While reason like a Juno stalk'd,
And from her portly figure threw
A lengthen'd shadow, as she walk'd.

No wonder Love, as on they past,
Should find that sunny morning chill,
For still the shadow reason cast

Fell on the boy, and cool'd him still.

* Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre's Etudes de la Nature.

In vain he tried his wings to warm,
Or find a path way not so dim,
For still the maid's gigantic form
Would pass between the sun and him!

"This must not be," said little Love-
"The sun was made for more than you."
So, turning through a myrtle grove,
He bade the portly nymph adieu!

Now gaily roves the laughing boy
O'er many a mead, by many a stream ;
In every breeze inhaling joy,

And drinking bliss in every beam.

From all the gardens, all the bowers,

He cull'd the many sweets they shaded, And ate the fruits and smell'd the flowers, 'Till taste was gone and odour faded!

But now the sun, in pomp of noon, Look'd blazing o'er the parched plains; Alas! the boy grew languid soon,

And fever thrill'd through all his veins !

The dew forsook his baby brow,

No more with vivid bloom he smill'd-
Oh! where was tranquil Reason now,
To cast her shadow o'er the child;

Beneath a green and aged palm,

His foot at length for shelter turning, He saw the nymph reclining calm,

With brow as cool, as his was burning!

Oh! take me to that bosom cold," In murmurs at her feet he said; And Reason op'd her garment's fold, And flung it round his fever'd head.

He felt her bosom's icy touch,

And soon it lull'd his pulse to rest; For ah! the chill was quite too much, And Love expir'd on Reason's breast!

SONG.

I NE'ER on that lip for a minute have gaz'd,
But a thousand temptations beset me,

And I've thought, as the dear little rubies you rais'd,

How delicious 'twould be-if you'd let me;

Then be not so angry for what I have done, Nor say that you've sworn to forget me; They were buds of temptation too pouting to shun,

And I thought that--you could not but let me!

When your lip with a whisper came close to my cheek.

Oh think how bewitching it met me!

And, plain as the eye of a Venus could speak, Your eye seem'd to say-you would let me!

Then forgive the transgression, and bid me re

main,

For, in truth, if I go, you'll regret me; Or oh! let me try the transgression again, And I'll do all you wish-will you let me !

TO MISS SUSAN B-CKF—D,

ON HER SINGING.

I MORE than once have heard, at night,
A song, like those thy lips have given,
And it was sung by shapes of light,

Who seem'd, like thee to breathe of heaven!

But this was all a dream of sleep,

And I have said, when morning shone, "Oh! why should fairy Fancy keep These wonders for herself alone?"

I knew not then that fate had lent
Suck tones to one of mortal birth;
I knew not then that heaven had sent
A voice, a form like thine on earth!

And yet, in all that flowery maze,

Through which my life has lov'd to tread,
When I have heard the sweetest lays
From lips of dearest lustre shed;

When 1 felt the warbled word

From beauty's mouth of perfume sighing, Sweet as music's hallow'd bird

Upon a rose's bosom lying!

Though form and song at once combin'd
Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill,
My heart hath sigh d, my heart hath pin'd
For something softer, lovelier still!

Oh! I have found it all, at last,

In thee, thou sweetest living lyre, Through which the soul hath ever pass'd Its harmonizing breath of fire!

All that my best and wildest dream,
In fancy's hour, could hear or see
Of music's sigh or beauty's beam
Are realiz'd at once in thee!

LINES

WRITTEN AT THE COHOS, OR FALLS OF THE MOHAWK RIVER.*

Giarera in loco ove s'udia ' rimbombo

Dell' acqua

Dante.

FROM rise of morn till set of sun

I've seen the mighty Mohawk run,

*There is a dreary and savage character in the country immediately about these Falls, which is