Here be the free gifts of the morning for thee; Dog-roses, with their thorns all strung with pearls, And a large round diamond in each rosy cup: Their leaves are the colour of Aurora's cheeks. Here is a pale white flower, without a name, At least to me, who am a stranger here: It has a delicate almond smell, and grew Among thick boughs, and leaves that guarded it. Poor thing! I took it from its shelter for thee. Here be some lilac heads of clover, sweet As the breath of love: they lay amongst the hay In a new-mown meadow, glittering in the sun. Here are the leaves of the wild vine, that shine Like glass without, and underneath are white And soft as a swan's breast. There is an oak branch; I gather'd it, because it grows at home, And in this strange land look'd as sad and loving As a friend's face: when it is wither'd, keep it. They are all heavy with the tears of the night, Who weeps, because she may not meet the sun; And when he comes down from the mountain tops, Parting the forests with his hands of fire, He drinks her weeping, kissing all the flowers With passionate love, which makes them look so blushing. _Tuesday, 2d._ Packed up my bag, took a cup of tea, went and gathered some flowers, and gave the poor lamb some heads of clover; bade a very unwilling farewell to the pretty place, and rowed over to West Point, where Mr. ---- was waiting for us. We breakfasted at ten, and went down to meet the boat. Young Mr. ---- came over to see us off, and brought me some lovely fresh flowers. Mr. ---- and Mr. ---- were both at the embarking-post. When the boat came up, the rush to and from it was, without exception, the most frightful thing I ever saw. The ----s were landing; and I just spoke to her, as she was borne past by the throng. Safely on board, I again found myself surrounded by familiar faces: I took out my work, and Mr. ---- sat down by us. As a nuisance, which all unsought-for companionship is, he is quite the most endurable possible; for he has seen such things, and known such people, that it is greatly worth while to listen to him. Every thing he says of Byron and Shelley confirms my own impression of them. The scenery of the Hudson, immediately beyond West Point, loses much of its sublimity, though no beauty. The river widens, and the rugged summits of the highlands melt gradually into a softer and more undulating outline. The richness, and swelling, and falling of the land reminded me occasionally of England. The yellow grain was giving diversity and warmth to the green landscape; and the shadowy woods fencing the corn-fields threw over the whole picture a sheltering peaceful charm. On the left, we presently began to see the blue outline of the Catskill mountains, towering into the hot sky, and looking most blessedly cool and dark amid the fervid glowing of the noonday world. Mrs.