General Morris is still in the prime and vigor of life, and it is not unlikely that the public will yet have much to admire from his pen, and which will, without doubt, place him still higher in the niche of fame. His residence is chiefly at Undercliff, his country seat, on the banks of the Hudson, near Cold Spring, surrounded by the most lovely and beautiful scenery in nature, which can not fail to keep the muse alive within him, and tune the minstrel to further and still higher efforts. Although he possesses abilities which eminently qualify him for public station, his literary taste and habits have, in spite of the strenuous solicitations of his friends, led him to prefer the retirement of private life. This, however, does not prevent his taking an active interest in all questions of public good; and the city of New York is greatly indebted to his vigorous aid for many of her most beautiful and permanent improvements. We can not close this sketch without adverting to the following incident, which occurred in the British House of Commons:-- "Mr. Cagley, a member from Yorkshire," says the "London Times," "Concluded a long speech in favor of protection, by quoting the ballad of 'Woodman, spare that tree' (which was received with applause of the whole house), the 'tree' according to Mr. Cagley, being the 'Constitution,' and Sir Robert Peel the 'woodman,' about to cut it down." What poet could desire a more gratifying compliment to his genius? Poems and Ballads. Poems. The Deserted Bride. [See Notes] Suggested by a scene in the play of the hunchback. Inscribed to James Sheridan Knowles. "Love me!--No.--He never loved me!" Else he'd sooner die than stain One so fond as he has proved me With the hollow world's disdain. False one, go--my doom is spoken, And the spell that bound me broken. Wed him!--Never.--He has lost me!-- Tears!--Well, let them flow!--His bride? No.--The struggle life may cost me! But he'll find that I have pride! Love is not an idle flower, Blooms and dies the self-same hour. Title, land, and broad dominion, With himself to me he gave; Stooped to earth his spirit's pinion, And became my willing slave! Knelt and prayed until he won me-- Looks he coldly upon me? Ingrate!--Never sure was maiden Deeply wronged as I. With grief My true breast is overladen-- Tears afford me no relief-- Every nerve is strained and aching, And my very heart is breaking! Love I him?--Thus scorned and slighted-- Thrown, like worthless weed, apart-- Hopes and feelings seared and blighted-- Love him?--Yes, with all my heart! With a passion superhuman-- Constancy, "thy name is woman." Love, nor time, nor mood, can fashion-- Love?--Idolatry's the word To speak the broadest, deepest passion, Ever woman's heart hath stirred! Vain to still the mind's desires, Which consume like hidden fires!