What though the Sun had left my sky; To save me from despair The blessed Moon arose on high, And shone serenely there. I watched her, with a tearful gaze, Rise slowly o'er the hill, While through the dim horizon's haze Her light gleamed faint and chill. I thought such wan and lifeless beams Could ne'er my heart repay For the bright sun's most transient gleams That cheered me through the day: But, as above that mist's control She rose, and brighter shone, I felt her light upon my soul; But now--that light is gone! Thick vapours snatched her from my sight, And I was darkling left, All in the cold and gloomy night, Of light and hope bereft: Until, methought, a little star Shone forth with trembling ray, To cheer me with its light afar-- But that, too, passed away. Anon, an earthly meteor blazed The gloomy darkness through; I smiled, yet trembled while I gazed-- But that soon vanished too! And darker, drearier fell the night Upon my spirit then;-- But what is that faint struggling light? Is it the Moon again? Kind Heaven! increase that silvery gleam And bid these clouds depart, And let her soft celestial beam Restore my fainting heart! SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL. By Currer Bell SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL. It would not have been difficult to compile a volume out of the papers left by my sisters, had I, in making the selection, dismissed from my consideration the scruples and the wishes of those whose written thoughts these papers held. But this was impossible: an influence, stronger than could be exercised by any motive of expediency, necessarily regulated the selection. I have, then, culled from the mass only a little poem here and there. The whole makes but a tiny nosegay, and the colour and perfume of the flowers are not such as fit them for festal uses. It has been already said that my sisters wrote much in childhood and girlhood. Usually, it seems a sort of injustice to expose in print the crude thoughts of the unripe mind, the rude efforts of the unpractised hand; yet I venture to give three little poems of my sister Emily's, written in her sixteenth year, because they illustrate a point in her character.