’Tis beautiful to-day. There’s not a cloud To mar this sweet serenity of sky: In Beauty’s arms all nature seems to lie: Earth smiles, as though the Deity had bowed To wrap her form in loveliness, and crowd The air with spirits of the waking spring. How meet that man his gift of homage bring, With Nature praise, and be no longer proud! Oh, lovely day of rest! how sweetly thou With joys of Heaven canst fill the thirsting soul! As out from rocks the gushing fountains roll, So from the heart of flinty hardness, now Does burst, unbidden, the pure, fervent prayer, And, with the morning dew, ascend the viewless air. K. FRAGMENT OF AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY. Scene--_An Orange Grove._ _Enter_ Muza. _Muza, solus._ Hark! heard I not her step, or was it nought But Fancy’s wild creation? Ah! tis gone, And still she’s absent. Ye odor-breathing groves, Aslant whose dewy bloom the virgin moon Pours her mild radiance, what though ye are fair, And rich in all the fragrance nature yields? Ye bring no balm to soothe my anxious mind-- But soft! she comes--my Isabel-- _Enter_ Isabel. _Isabel._ Oh, Muza! Muza! pardon, I beseech you, This rash, misguided step, that unbecomes My virgin modesty and maiden pride. Muza, I’ve erred. Oh let me now depart; ’Tis not a fitting time. _Muza._ Say why not, dear maid? This is the hour I’ve longed, I’ve prayed for; and thank Allah now ’Tis come at last. (_Kneeling._) Sweet Isabel, my heart is wholly thine. I love thee more than life. Nay, do not turn Those lovely eyes away; still let them beam With gentleness on me. List, dear one, list-- _Isabel._ Cease, Muza, cease. These glowing words of love Savor too much of thine own sunny clime, That makes the tenderest passions of the heart Burn with a fiercer flame. But ’tis not meet That we should hold such converse at this hour; And death awaits thee, Muza, if thou’rt found Within these groves. _Muza._ Isabel, Is then my safety of concern to thee? And does the pang of fear thrill through thy breast For Muza’s sake?