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fully saluting the governor, as he stood in the balcony of the City-Hall. But it was a lightning glance. The light that o'er my eye-beam flashed,' was gone almost as soon as you could say it came. I sank into the humble citizen, and scorned to wear the laurels won by others, through dust and sweat, in many a field day of hard marching, and dinner campaigning. I have had the honor of being congratulated for my magnanimity and love of country, rather than love of party,' in turning my coat, and becoming an advocate for the well regulated credit system,' afterthat system had been blown to the winds. Thanks, most worthy citizens, of all parties, who always consider a man honest when he deserts to your side of the house, but I lay claim to no such high honors. Weave your chaplets for other brows :

'A poor Loco-Foco am I!

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When I change, there will be two of us sophisticated,' as the fool in Lear hath it. Tell me not that I am considered a rising young man at the bar. Congratulate me not on the 'stirring' political speech to

a large and respectable meeting. Give me no laud as the caller of conventions, and the inditer of political addresses. Admire not my boldness as a dashing speculator, nor speak of my losses or gains. Yet for these, and all these, have I been congratulated. I have been decked with plumes which others borrowed for me. I have been praised and censured, congratulated and denounced, flattered and sneered at, for matters with which I had as little to do as with the doings of the

years before the flood. A friend congratulated me the other day on my improved looks since the change in my condition, and went so far as to hope that the child was doing well. That was the most unkindest cut of all, to one of my unhoused condition, and single wretchedness. Beside, let others think as they may, to my mind there was an impropriety, immodesty, and want of regard to what philosopher Square calls “the fitness of things,' that my bachelor mind revolts at Who the devil am I?

CONFESSION.

Confession, like physic, mid mortal extremes,

In the hands of a skilful concoctor,
Is an excellent thing for the patient, it seems,

Though not quite so good for the doctor!

Hence, some spiritual quacks, in attending their sick,

On the virtues insist of confessions;
But should a small thorn their own consciences prick,

Their sole lenitive pills are professions.

As to tears for our sins. if amendment it works,

An ounce-vial full ainple perhaps is;
And too little the Heidelberg tun, if there lurk

At the bottom the seeds of relapses.
But confession, what is 't, but to lighten the ship,

With a cargo of sins that hard ride did,
To be fished up again for a fair-weather trip,

The moment the storm has subsided ?

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THE

OF

1 EAUTY: OR, A LOVER'S JOURNAL.

LOVE.

SPENSER.

The changes cultivatiou brings
In Nature's wildest, simplest things :
And when from me the flower she took,
As if a serpent touched, I shook;
And what a mist came over me!
Sage students we in botany!
Below, my feelings I have penned,
In lines I will not dare to send;
And yet 't is sweet myself to show
What I would blush to let her know.

TO

ANNA. O! How is study misapplied With witching woman by our side; Despite our will, despite our pains, We quit the task with empty brains: We learn -- but only Cupid's lore; The heart, and not the head, we store. In vain with thee is all my skill, My eyes turn rebels to my will: When held by thee, my truant look Is ever wandering from the book; The letters dance, my senses swim, And all the blooming flowers grow

WORTH

CANTO

1. FIRST

"Oh who can tell what cau e had that fair inaid
To use him so, that luved her so well?
Or who with hlame can justly her braid
For loving noi!- for who can love compel?"

June 11.
'Tis sweet, when o'er the summer sky
The stormy clouds disordered fly,
Dim-staining with their leaden hue
The pure, the universal blue;
To list, to watch through sheltering pane
The downward rushing of the rain:
Now, in the pauses of the wind,
Slow-dropping, heavy, straightly lined ;
While beaten flowers a-nodding go,
At every crystal pellet's blow,
And the stiff shrub, with surfeit drowned,
Top-heavy, staggering to the ground,
Grown graceful in its wo, appears
Like haughty beauty bent with tears:
Now, slanting to the storm's career,
A hazy chaos blots the air ;
Leaves, blossoms, inists dash dimly past,
Borne on the wet wings of the blast.
How sweet to ope, on such a day,
Some gentle poet's wizard lay;
And in the clime of fancy find
New sunshine for the dreary mind;
So golden, that not all the grim
And sullen gloom without can dim:
And sweeter still, to light our skies
With dearly loved and sunny eyes;
Which round us shed a rosier glow,
Than Poësy herself can throw:
Not fancy's radiance can improve
The presence of the form we love.
Such days are dear, and this was one;
Without, obscured by vapors dun,
Within, illumed by such a sun.
Yes! we have met : she sent for me,
(Else had I never made so free)
To lend my aid in pressing flowers;
Thus passed three sweet and trembling

hours:
Then petals would we tear, to see

dim.
How can I mark the violent's eye,
When those of heavenlier tint are nigh?
Dear eyes! not heaven's alone in hue,
But ah! in their sweet nature too :
The lily's snow is lost to me,
When in that hand the flower I see :
Of petald rose I cannot speak,
When near the damask of that cheek:
Thou call'st the jasmine sweet; ah, no!
Not when thy breath declares it so:
That saucy breath, whose odorous sigh
Gives to its own sweet words the lie.
I tear the bells where bees do sip,
And think upon thy honier lip;
0! were its sweets allowed to me,
I'd prove as busy as the bee !

The night-bird from his native tree

Pours on the air his lulling strain; But harshly jars his melody,

Amid the discord in my brain.

IV.
The winds a load of sweets divine

From out the wood's deep bosom bear; But ah! the sighs that gush from mine,

Breathe only of the bitter there!

V.

Not song of bird, nor glance of moon,

Nor breath of woods my smile inspires : Thy voice, thy face, thy sighs, alone

Can give the peace my soul requires !

When pressing flowers, so they may hold
Their hues unchanged through winter's

cold,
My sighs, my throbbings all confess,
Thou art the flower that I would press;
To light me with thy beauty's blaze,
And cheer the winter of my days.

June 16. Most happy thought! A sail a sail !

The moon is full, the tide is high; To-morrow, if my pains prevail,

We'll skim the waters merrily: And I'll contrive it, when we meet, To find by Anna's side a seat.

June 18. O! how the mellow heavens were bright, When our fair crew embarked last night : Above, no mist - below, no chill ; Passaic never slept so still. Huge, round, and golden rose the moon, But nounting, grew to silver soon : And dwelling, spire, whate'er was white, Shone whiter in her lavish light; While every gaudy hue was dim, And trees and hollows gloomed more

grin: As if alone her virgin ray On purest colors loved to play: And froin the moonrise to the boat One glassy line of light would float, Which, at ihe rash oar's shivering stroke, Quick into stars, and serpents broke; That glanced, and gambolled to the eye, Like mirrored rockets of the sky. But my best plans are ever thwarted My Anna and myself were parted. I thought all eyes were watching me, And kept aloof, that none might see, And so I lost her company. Yet found I solace for my pang, For oh! a tender song she sang: Her voice, rich streaming like the moon, So poured its steady shower of tune, Round which her lute's repeated tink.

lings Broke into points like starry twinklings, And in the hush of resting oars, Far-sweet the mellow murmur pours : No breath, no sound to mar it now, Save the soft rush that sweeps the prow. The very fishes, as subdued By hunger for melodious food, So near the moonlit surface came, Their sides shot back the silver flame : And these the words that travelled, blest, Through rosy pathways, from her breast:

How truly all she uttered there Described my own sad-sweet despair! As the light aspen quivering flies,

At sigh of morn, or step of bird, So are the heart's sweet sympathies

By music's balmy breathing stirred. Oh! could I hear, unmoved, her own And melting music's blended tone, When either stirs me, heard alone? All night, all night the living note In dreams around my head would float, And all my haunted depths of brain Still echo faintly with the strain.

Returning with the changing tide,
I found a seat by Anna's side.
Along the eastern shore we sweep,
Where frowns the darkly-shadow'd steep,
Whence savage hemlock's feathered

boughs
Droop o'er the water as it flows:
Whose fallen leaves embrown the ground,
And shed a resinous fragrance round.

Now on the west a blackness spreads,
Bold clouds push up their startling heads,
And slippery lightnings flash, and glide,
Glassed in the still unruffled tide :
Apace was plied the rapid oar,
To reach in time the homeward shore;
And as the hurried boat would rock,
My arm sustained her from the shock.
At the sweet touch my senses reeled,
With dearest wishes thus to shield
Her form forever from the strife
Of all the stormy ills of life:
The scene, the moon, the coming stornt,
And in my arms her helpless form,
Sent throbbing to my frame's extremes
My pulses in bewildering streams :
And melting there, my eyes grew dim,
And welling tears o'erran their brim.
More precious to my heart than gold,
Those sweet and silent tears that rolled;
With none to see, and none to tell,
Hid even from her for whom they fell.

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Now lightning, with convulsive spasm, Splita heaven in many a fearful chasm, And heapy darkness reaching wide, Hangs like a horror o'er the tide :

As shy to meet the stranger tide,
That wooing, keeps so near her side;
But soon, coquetting o'er, they blend,
Like lovers blest, and down the bay,
New-wedded, take their golden way:
And there their honey.moon they spend,
Before they enter on the strife
The dangerous world of ocean-life.
Far off, with heads blue-veiled, and high,
Dim mountains bank the distant sky;
Here opes the high-road to the deep,
And here the city's banners sweep;
And streamer's fluttering lengths are sent
From mast, and tower, and batilement.

i hear the far-rejoicing roar,
But I have sweeter joys in store.
Now will I ope my jewel-hoard,
Where Anna's gifts and spoils are stored :
This withered pink she dropped the day
We thro' the fiorisi's grounds did stray,
Which, when no eye but mine was near,
I hurrying seized, and treasured here.
This rose, that morn of bitter bliss,
When first she shrank to shun my kiss,
And when how sore my pain she found,
She kindly gave to soothe the wound:
This dream-cake, with white ribbons

bound, Was given, inscribed with her dear name, The night her friend a bride became: 'Twas useless all, such pains to lake, For I had dreamed without the cake. And now, most precious, and most rare, Her parting gift – this lock of hair :

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Which, seized as with a sudden fright,
Shivers and trembles at the sight.
Although the Tempest, from his eye
Shot only angry glances by,
Nor once the learful silence stirred
With the deep thunder of his word.
Now comes the wind with frenzied scream,
And lashes, till it writhes, the stream:
It takes the high trees by the hair,
And as with besoms sweeps the air.
The pitchy clouds rush rainless by,
Wild-twisting in the hollow sky:
But for a moment raves the gust,
To vanish in a whirl of dust.
Erelong through spray and roar we reach,
And run secure upon, the beach.
Now breaks the gloom, and mid the

chinks The moon, in search of opening, winks; And through the clouds her course that

hedge, She cuts her way with silver edge! Fair as the first hour is the last Who could have dreamed a storm had passed ?

Snake-Hill, July 4. Bells, drums, shouts, cannons, wakened

me, With all the roar of jubilee: But I escaped the din and stir, To climb the hills and dream of her; My journal and my stick the sole Companions of my lonely stroll; But Nature brightly smiled on me, And lent me her sweet company; And strewing beauties for my gaze, Amused me in a thousand ways. Yet, Anna, though so fair to see, She could not win my thought from thee: No! all of bright my eyes could find, But woke thy image in my mind !

The winds were fresh, the heavens were

fair, Azaleas spiced the brushing air: And orchis in the grassy seas Bowed princely to the passing breeze: And rows of weeds in iangled plight Stood wove with threads of parasite, In golden meshes prisoned quite. Bees buzzed, and wrens that thronged

the rushes,
Pour'd round incessantiwittering gushes;
While thousand reeds whereon they hung
Bent with the weight of nests and young.
Like a huge bear, alone and still,
Crouched on the meadow, lay Snake-Hill;
Thick-shagged with bushy forest-hair,
Wild as the savage left it ihere.

Now on its giddiest tower I stand,
Victorious o'er the prostrate land:
Oh! boundless view -oh! wondrous

scene!
The marsh a velvet carpet seems,
Broidered with silver-threaded streams :
Before me, stealing through the green,
Passaic, bash ul, strives to hide,

Dost remember, when persuading

Fingers twined the silky mass, How the glossy strands in braiding,

Shone like spun and woven glass?

The Hackensack.

VI.

Dost regret thy pleasant rambles

Round her temples' fair hill-side ? And those chasing, rolling gambols

Down her shoulders' snowy slide ?

VII.

Or, when by her cheek descending,

As she plucked the wild flowers fair, For each bud she reaped in bending,

Thou a kiss didst gather there?

VIII.

Or, when near her bosom doting,

Trembling, dazzled by the glow, How a roguish breeze there floating,

Pushed thee on the bank of snow }

IX.

Oh! 't were bliss all bliss excelling

Hopes the rashest could demand, Mighi I choose, for my home-dwelling, That fair clime, thy native land!

Night. RETURNING home, as evening frowned, My Anna by the door I found, There watching, with the crowd around, The dazzling freaks of fire to see, That brightly closed the jubilee: And oh ! 't was sweel the play to trace Of varying lights upon her face: First, rockets on their fiery cars Rushed roaring up in furious chase, Then broke in silent-dropping stars: Or, like a nest of serpents frightened, Ran scattering through the sky they lightened.

(round, When blazing wheels spin whizzing And dazzling fire-drops shower the

ground, Her features bloom with crimson glare, As though a blush were mantling there: But changed to suns as pearly white As visions of ethereal light, Her form, in silvery mists, appears Some seraph wondering at the spheres.

July 17. Ah! weary fate! sick, sick at heart, Unnerved, forlorn, I sit apart : I look on book, and sky, and green;

Her image ever present plays, And like a teasing mote is seen,

Still dimming all whereon I gaze. Oh! when will this illusion cease, When will my troubled heart find peace!

July 21. What have I done? Alas! 'tis past, And my worst fears are truths at last!

She bade me enter ; all were gone
Save her sweet self, at home alone!
With fears I vainly sought to hide,
I following, sat me by her side.
Twilight, the sofa, and the vow,
My thoughts so ost had linked, that now
I dared not speak, yet could not fly;
But she more courage had than I,
And said, half-sorrowing, I was wrong
To stay from her so much

- so long ;
That I'a truer friendship felt,
When we so long together dwelt;
The adage true, she grieved to find,
'Once out of sight, soon out of mind.'
I could not bear the charge — and burst
With feelings I so long had nurst;
And mattered, tortured to the rack,
'T was not my will that kept me back :
As I grew bolder, she grew shy,
And moments passed without reply.
Meanwhile, my downcast eyes espied
Her hand soft-sleeping by her side;
Which, as I kept my tempting watch,
By turns I longed and feared to catch,
Till, dim and dizzy with the view,
A desperate rashness in me grew;
I seized it, and without a word,
And oh! it fluttered like a bird :
Warm, soft, and trembling, ibere it lay,
Half-willing, half afraid to stay.

The thought of all — the hour so bland --
And ah! the touch of that dear hand,
So thrilled my feelings' tenderest strings,
So oped the sluices of their springs,
That all the loosened currenis rushed,
And from my lips and eyelids gushed.

Dear Anna?' came the words at last, "Oh! hadst thou known the pain I've

passed, How all my best pursuits have flagged, As I the heavy moments dragged, And how my bogom's warmest powers Have blest those past and happy hours, When ever by thy side I moved, And loved thee ere I knew I loved ; And since, how with a fiercer flame Has borned and tossed my feverish frame, When every thought and dream would be

Of thee and only thee! Oh! then thy lips had never said My love for thee was cold or dead ! Startled at all my feeling shown, She asked me then, with timid tone: 'If true thou lov'st me, as before, Oh! why not seek to meet me more ? Whate'er I love -- my birds, my flowers, With them I wish to pass my hours.' 'Nay, judge not thus !' I checked her here, 'Love is not weaker, mixed with fear: And yet, in truth, I know not why, What most I love, that most I fly; This, this alone I know - no more I love thee better than before: And oh! when driven from thee by fear, 'Tis then thou art most truly dear. No, no!--my heart is true = 't is thing That cannot feel, or love like mine!'

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