How sweet to gaze upon their slight, Transparent forms, changing so oft, As e'en the Zephyr's gentlest flight Scatters them with its pinions soft— Seeming, as down the sky they go, Like wreaths of gently driven snow! And then to trace the full-orbed moon, As, struggling on her cloudy way, She travels forth, now wrapped in gloom, Now bursting forth with undimm'd ray— Like some high, noble heart, whose pride Still bears him on, though woes betide. LOVE AND CONSTANCY. BY E. BURKE FISHER. CHAP. I.—LOVE. Oh! how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And, by and bye, a cloud takes all away. “_Harry, dear Harry, farewell!_” “_God bless you, Mary, we shall meet again!_”—a stifled sob from the first speaker, and an ejaculation of manly sorrow from the latter, attested their emotion—the oarsmen dipped their light blades into the wave, and the little craft obedient to the impulse rapidly receded from the shore. The youth watched its progress through the glancing waters, and every ripple it created seemed to wash upon his heart; a moment, and it ranged under the bows of a stately vessel, which soon after spread her canvass to the breeze, and bore down the bay, on her outward course. Evening found the youth pacing the shore, gazing upon the faint outlines of the departing ship, and when the niggard robe of night hid her from his view, then it was that the full sense of his situation fell heavily upon him—he felt that he was an outcast—an alien, without a single tie to bind him to life, and with a sensation of wretchedness, known only to him who has tasted of the bitter chalice of misery—he cast him down upon the sands, and wept long and bitterly! * * * * * * * * Who is there who has not heard the melancholy detail, as “From his sire's lips glean'd, Or history's page,”