Oh! many are the unknown flowers, By human eyes unseen, That bloom in nature's woodland bowers, Of bright and changeless green. The brightest flowers earth ever knew, Of lovely breath, and brilliant hue, Are sparkling there with morning dew, Or bright with summer showers-- Above them tower the forest trees, And o'er them blows the gentle breeze, And by them many a mountain stream Runs eddying thro' its banks of green, And to each bud that o'er it bends A drop of pearly radiance lends, Dashes its sides with snowy spray, Then hurries on its course away-- The wood-bee revels on their sweets, And 'neath their leaves the bright Fay sleeps; And by them bounds the gentle deer So full of life, so full of fear: And lovely birds, whose brilliant wings Are bright with hues of brighter things, Make music in those woodland bowers, Those Edens of the unknown flowers. MORNA. SONNET TO ********. BY ALEXANDER LACY BEARD, M.D. I will not leave thee! no by heaven I swear, Although thy soul be stained with guilt and shame, I will not leave thee! for by me it came-- Then cheer up, sweet one, shudder not with fear; From my own side, thy form they shall not tear; I will not leave thee! one undying flame Burns in my breast!--will ever burn the same, 'Mid sorrow's storm, and darkest hour of care. O that some far off, dark, and desart isle, To man a stranger and his heartless pride, Would take us to its bosom lone and wild, Where I, unwatched, could wander by thy side, Soothed by thy voice and gladden'd by thy smile, Rich in thy love so long and deeply tried. A. W. Schlegel says, that in a German drama is the following stage direction. "He flashes lightning at him with his eyes, and exit." (_Er blitzt ihn mit den augen an._) {97} METZENGERSTEIN. A TALE IN IMITATION OF THE GERMAN. BY EDGAR A. POE. Pestis eram vivus--moriens tua mors ero. _Martin Luther_. Horror and Fatality have been stalking abroad in all ages. Why then give a date to the story I have to tell? I will not. Besides, I have other reasons for concealment. Let it suffice to say, that at the period of which I speak, there existed, in the interior of Hungary, a settled although hidden belief in the doctrines of the Metempsychosis. Of the doctrines themselves--that is, of their falsity, or of their probability--I say nothing. I assert, however, that much of our incredulity--as La Bruyére says of all our unhappiness--"_vient de ne pouvoir etre seuls_."