SPENSER.

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

The changes cultivation 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 'tis sweet myself to show
What I would blush to let her know.

то ΑΝΝΑ.

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 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 petal'd 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 honied lip;
O! were its sweets allowed to me,
I'd prove as busy as the bee!

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 fearful 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.
Ere long 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 tangled plight
Stood wove with threads of parasite,
In golden meshes prisoned quite.
Bees buzzed, and wrens that thronged
the rushes,

Pour'd round incessant twittering 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 there.

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 battlement.

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 florist'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 :
'T was useless all, such pains to take,
For I had dreamed without the cake.
And now, most precious, and most rare,
Her parting gift - this lock of hair :

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?

VIIL

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, Might 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 sweet 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.

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 oft 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 muttered, 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, there 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 currents 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 bosom'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 burned 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 true 't is thine
That cannot feel, or love like mine!'