Once more, and only once, a change passed o'er My fitful dream. In sultry, southern clime, Again upon my vision fell the tall, Attenuated image of that youth, Whom first beneath the spreading oak I saw; And he was changed not less in feature than In heart. The glow of health had fled his cheek, Now haggard, swart and bronzed by burning sun. His eye, once bright with joyous life, had lost Its lustre now, and deep upon his brow Had care her furrows traced. His spirit too, So light and buoyant once, was now all bound And broken like the willow's drooping branch. But o'er his heart a yet more fearful change Had come. _Once_ warm and sensibly alive To pity's cry--e'er breathing love for all-- _Now_ cold and seared--the living fountains of Its sympathy were dried--and dead it was To all things save the worldly schemes that fierce Ambition wrought. And none did know the weight Of anguish on its aching chords that pressed, Since living man no commune held with him: For he did spurn them as unhallowed things, And 'round him wrapt the cloak of selfishness: For what was now the world to him, since she Whose presence had made all things beautiful, Was lost, forever lost? And he did look Unmoved on fairest form, and brightest eye; Unmoved he heard full many a voice attuned In sweet accordance with the soft piano; For mute were all the echoes of his soul, Since never could he hope again such pure, Such bright, such dazzling purity to find, As dwelt within the heart of her he loved. And naught the slumbering powers of his mind Did rouse and prompt to grapple with the herd That crossed his path, save only the desire To banish thought and leave a name behind. For he did feel that none would glory in His present fame, and that he was a lone And desert being--all forgetting, and By all forgot. And though his soul did thirst At honor's fount to drink and laurels win, He inly scorned the world--the world's acclaim-- And whilst it flattered, loathed its fulsome praise. And yet unto all outward seeming was His spirit calm as ocean's waves, when lie The winds of Heaven upon her bosom hushed. Here ceased my dream--for on my slumbers broke The glare of day, and called my spirit home. SYLVESTER. MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. [_From 'The Gift,' edited by Miss Leslie_.] BY EDGAR A. POE. A wet sheet and a flowing sea. _Cunningham_.