What leaves were these so rudely torn away? Whose immortality thus roughly foiled? What aphoristic dogs have had their day, And of their hopes been suddenly despoiled? Whose leaf was this? and what the bay-wreath'd name Which here its glowing fancies did rehearse? What was the subject which it doomed to Fame? Whose knife or scissors did that doom reverse? Here gallant knights, imagining the wings Of the famed Pegasus sustained them, soaring, Fiddled, thou false one! on their own heartstrings, Whilst thou thy soul in laughter wert outpouring! A score of petty minstrels might have lain, And, like the Abbey Sleepers, found good lying In this brief space--but none, alas! remain, Thou'st sent their ashes to the four winds flying! Behold my Muse, Colossus like, bestride The fallen honors of each beau and lover-- Ghosts of departed songs, that here have died, How many of ye now do o'er me hover? Methought I heard ye then, as first ye threw Your soft imaginings in dreamy numbers, And o'er my soul the sweet enchantment flew Like music faintly heard in midnight slumbers. * * * * * When whim, or chance, or spite, _my_ leaf shall tear, Grant me in turn, ye fates! some gentle poet-- One who shall lie with such a grace, you'd swear That if indeed he lied, he did'nt know it! For the Southern Literary Messenger. A PRODIGIOUS NOSE. MR. WHITE: Your facetious correspondent PERTINAX PLACID, seems so deeply versed in what may be called _nasal music_, that I am very sure he would have recorded, in his late communication, and in far better style than mine, the history of a NOSE. Permit me, therefore, to furnish him with a few "memorabilia," of this extraordinary protuberance, (_nose_ it could not properly be called,) against his next narrative of a nasal concert.