Long did my footsteps delighted range My peaceful home, but there came a change; My heart grew sad, and I looked with pain On all I had barter’d life’s ties to gain. A chilling weight on my spirits fell, As the low, soft wail of the ocean shell— Or the bee’s faint hum in the flowery wood, Was all that broke on my solitude. Oh! then I felt, in my loneliness, That earth had no power the heart to bless, Unwarm’d by affection’s holy ray; And hope was withered, as day by day I watch’d for the bark, but in vain, in vain; She never sought that green isle again. I stretch’d my arms o’er the heaving sea, And pray’d aloud, in my agony, That Love’s pure spirit might with me dwell— Then rose the waves with a murmuring swell, Higher and higher, till nought was seen Where slept in beauty that islet green. The waters pass’d o’er me,—the spell was broke; From the dream of the lonely isle I woke, With a heart redeem’d from its selfish stain, To mingle in scenes of the world again With cheerful spirit—and rather share The pains and sorrows which mortals bear, Than dwell where no shade on my path is thrown, ’Mid fadeless flowers and bright gems, alone. Philadelphia. * * * * * LINES. Why do we live? Is it to fade From glory to the tomb, Wrapt in its melancholy shade, Inheritors of gloom? Struck like the stars from Heav’n we die: Quench’d is the spirit’s light; Youth’s cheer and Hope’s sweet melody Are hush’d in sorrow’s night. Why are we here! but to depart? ’Tis anguish thus to fade. Shall grief oppress a single heart When we are lowly laid? Thank God! th’ immortal soul no blight Of earth can e’er decay; On high, to realms of endless light It flashes far away. * * * * * THE HEAD AND THE HEART. BY W. LANDOR. “This is certainly the most charming opera that was ever produced,” said Mrs. Althorp, as the curtain fell after the first act of Sonnambula, and she turned round to entertain the company in her box; “yet, after all, what an absurdity it is! However, I must remember that I am growing old.” “Pardon me,” said Mr. Hartford, who sat behind her, “elegance and beauty have no age.” “Surely elegance has its Age, and it is that in which Mr. Hartford lives.” “Mrs. Althorp’s _fiat_ has, indeed, such potency that it can make even me, in fact at least, the model of elegance.” “My stamp,” she replied, “like that of the mint, only ascertains the value of the metal.” “But, in the mint of fashion which you administer, there is such a seignorage as makes the coin far more valuable than the bullion.”