Yet these are pointless thoughts, the hour, the place, Command my muse to plume her wayward wing For some bold flight—o’er realms that bear no trace Of other footsteps—be it mine to sing Of that more blissful twilight of _the soul_— Which poets say, steals over it in dreams, When Want and Care resign their base control, And tired Sense reclines ’neath Fancy’s beams. O! years agone I loved a maiden fair, My hopes were high and my joys Elysian: Oft as I gazed upon her beauty rare, Low my Fancy whispered _’tis a vision_! And now I turn and wish that o’er my soul Such fair and pleasant twilights oftener stole. * * * * * [Illustration: Painted by Bonington Engraved by F. Humphrys THE LAY OF LOVE. Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine] * * * * * LOVE’S INFLUENCE. BY ENNA DUVAL. Thus not all love, nor every mode of love is beautiful or worthy of commendation, but that alone which excites us to love worthily. If any one seeks the friendship of another, believing him to be virtuous, for the sake of becoming better through such intercourse and affection, and is deceived, his friend turning out to be worthless, and far from the possession of virtue; yet it is honorable to have been so deceived. For such an one seems to have submitted to a kind of servitude because he would endure any thing for the sake of becoming more virtuous and wise: a disposition of mind eminently beautiful. So much, although unpremeditated, is what I have to deliver on the subject of Love, O Phædrus. _Shelley’s Translation of the Symposium of Plato._