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TO ONE BELOVED.

BY PARK BENJAMIN. 1

Years, years have past, sig My sweatest, since I heard thy voice’s tone, Saying thou would’st be mine, and mine alone; Dark years have cast Their shadows on me, and my brow no more Smiles with the happy light that once it wore.

My heart is sere, Life a leaf driven by the autumnal gale; The early rose-hues of my life are pale,

Its garden drear, Its bower deserted ; for my singing bird Among its green retreats no more is heard.

Oh, trust them not Who say that I have long forgotten thee, That even now thou art not dear to me, Though far my lot From thine, and though Time’s onward rolling tide May never waft me, Soe to thy side.

I would forget, Alas! I strive in vain; in dreams, in dreams, The glory of thy smile upon me beams—

No star has met My-gaze for years, whose lustre doth not shine, Whose look of speechless love is not like thine.

The evening air— Soft witness of the floweret’s fragrant death— Floats not so sweetly to me as thy breath; The moonlight fair Oa snowy waste sleeps not with purer ray Than thy clear memory on my soul’s decay.

I love thee still, And I shall love thee ever, and above All earthly objects, with undying love. The mountain rill Seeks with no surer course the far, bright sea, Than my unchanged affection flows to thee!

If

A year has flown,

My heart’s best angel, since for thee I strung

My frail, unheeded lyre; since last I sung With earnest tone

My love undying—yet, in all my dreams,

Thy smiles have lingered like the stars on streams. On raffled wing,

Like storm-tost bird, that year has sped away

Into the shadowy past, and not a day To me could bring

Familiar joys like those I knew of yore,

But mornand noon and aighta sorrow bore. Alas for Time!

For me his sickle reaps the harvest fair

Of hopes which blossomed in the summer air Of youth’s warm clime,

But leave to bloom the deeply-rooted tree,

Planted by Grief and nursed by Memory.

Beneath its shade I muse and weep alone, while daylight dies, Changing its dolphin-hues in Western skies ; And when they fade, And when the moon, of starry hosts the queen, Waves her transparent sceptre o’er the scene:

I seek the vale, And, roving there mid sylvan solitudes, Lost in the shadows of columnar woods,

A vision pale As the white wings of seraphs in the night, Rises before me with supernal light.

I seek the mount, And in communion with a loftier sphere, I feel thy presence spiritually near; I seek the fount, And thou art my Egeria, and the clade Around the sparkling waves is holier made.

I seek the brook, And in the ar shout of waters hear Thy merry, melting tones salute m r And in the look sinaai Of lillies, floating from the lovely land, See something soft and stainless as thy hand.

All things convey A likeness of my early, only love, All fairest things around, below, above— The diamond spray Over the billows, and the bedded pearls, And the light flag the lighter breeze unfurls.

For, in the grace As well as in the beauty of the sea, I find a true similitude to thee, And I can trace Thine image in the loveliness that dwells *Mid inland forests and sequestered dells,

I am thine own, My sweetest, though thou never canst be mine ; T would not, if I could, the bonds untwine Around me thrown,

Rast een nmecocomnatte: = aie

PSRATORS.

THE EXAMINER.

5 Ys

Since first [ breathed to thee that word of fire,

Re-echoed now, how feebly! by my lyre. Love, constant love—

| Age cannot quench it—like the primal ray

| From the vast fountain that supplies the day, Far, far above

Our cloud-encircled region, it will flow,

As pure and as eternal in its glow. Oh, when I die, .

(If until then thou may’st not drop a tear,)

Weep then for one to whom thou wast most dear, ‘To whom thy sigh,

Denied in life, in death if fondly given,

Will seem the dearest incense—air of Heaven.

Ill.

Dost thou not turn, Fairest and kindest, from the flowery way On which thy feet are treading every day, And seek to learn Tidings sometimes of him who loved thee well, More than his pen can write or tongue can tell?

Gaze not thine eyes (Ah, wild and lustrous eyes! ye were my fate,) Upon the lines he fashioned, not of late,

But when the skies Of joy were over him, and he was blessed That he could sing of treasures he possessed ?

Treasures more dear Than gold in ingots or barbaric piles Of pearls and rubies—thy most precious smiles. Bring, bring me here, Relentless Time, some of those treasures now, And print a hundred wrinkles on my brow!

Make me grow old Before my years are many, take away Health, youth, ambition—let my strength decay, Let me be sold To be the slave of some strange, barren lore— Only those treasures to my heart restore! Ah, I implore A boon that cannot be, a blessing flown Unto a realm so distant from my own, That, could I soar On eagle’s wings, it still would be afar, As if I strove to reach the zenith star. The future vast Before me lifts majestic steeps on high, Which I must stand upon before I die, For in the past Love buried lies, and nothing lives but Fame,

To speak unto the coming age my race and name. IV.

VALEDICTION.

Old Time steals on; Hairs silvery white are mingling with the brown, And heavy burdens press my spirit down, And they are gone— The fresh, young joys that were forever springing, And flown the birds that were forever singing. Still to my love, My earliest, fondest, though my lost, I turn, Like one who weeps above a funeral urn, And, like a dove ’Plaining for his companions, do I grieve ’Mid the deep shadows of this starry eve.

Where is my home? O’er the wide world like an autuninal leaf, 'm tostand driven by the wind of grief;

I would not roam, And yet for me there is no household spot, Where in new hopes past memories are forgot.

This deep midnight, This holy hush, this undisturbed repose, Or yon large star, that in the zenith glows, Brings no delight, For thus of yore its beams were wont to shine, When thy dear eyes were upward turned to mine.

Another now Lists to the music of thy low, soft tone, Another folds thee to his heart alone;

And that fair brow, That sunny cheek, which I so purely pressed, Another’s lips in passion have caressed.

Avails it not That I should sorrow, that my dreams should be Filled with bright angels, who resemble thee ; _ For I must blot ‘Thine image from my soul, and dash away | The golden colors of my love’s young day. |_ Ever farewell ! Bend thou and listen to my latest word, And let the fountains of thy heart be stirred, While my sad shell Breathes its faint murmurs—for they must recal] When thou wast mine as [ was thine—thine all.

On many a shrine ~ - the offerings of a careless hour ince irom my heart I plucked its death] ‘ And — it hina — ut gave I worship deep and pure and tru To her alone who feels this Inst adieu.”

NATURE AND ART. A TALE OF CROSS PURPOSES.

‘ Away with that dull book, Rosa ;—you will have suf- ficient leisure to spoil your eyes when I shall need you less,’ said the beautiful Edna Newell, to her less lovely cousin Rosaline.

‘At your service, cousin Edna, replied the sweet: tempered maiden, as she laid the dull ‘ Course of Time upon an ottoman at her feet.

‘Now, then, just select forme the most becoming or- nament for my hair, if you please,—always remember- ing that I wish to look particularly well this evening— even to surpass myself, if possible !

‘Ah! again for a conquest, Edna?

‘As you like, replied the coquettish beauty, placing upon her fair brow a row of costly gems ;—* this pearly band would be just the thing, had’I never worn it,—that silver wreath is too common,—what think you of thig brilliant tiara? does it not give one a look of royalty ?

‘Just why I would not wear it, cousin. I love sim- plicity.’

‘So do not I, then: and this bright diadem shall grace my brow to-night; for,do you know, Rosa dear, that the handsome stranger, Sir Henrick de Lisle, is to ho- nor the assembly with his presence this evening ?

‘ And pray, cousin Edna, what then ?’

‘What then, indeed !—and just imagine that talented and haughty Southern nabob kneeling at the shrine of the ‘adorable Edna’—and pray, cousin Rosa, what then ?

A merry-ringing laugh rang through the apartment, which seemed but the joyous outpourings of an over- flowing heart.

‘Ah! Edna—Edna! you richly merit a reprimand— but if you are so anxious to render your charms irresis- tible, allow me to dress your hair for once, nor condemn my skill untried; for, believe, lovely faces and licht hearts need not the aid of gems.’ 7

‘ Enough—proceed, sweet Quakeress,’ said the merry girl, seating herself opposite the broad mirror.

Already the white taper fingers of Rosa were twining with the jetty locks—the shining bands were gathered in a knot, and tastefully fastened by a small golden pin; a tiny wreath of moss rosebuds was twined with the glossy braids, and all was completed.

‘Thank you, sweet coz; but oh! horrible simplicity ; —and thus am [arrayed for a conquest!—-this night I

—-to secure a lover! to win a husband! and all by my own matchless charms—-unadorned! Cousin Rosa, your flattery is unpardonable--your taste abominable, and your whims unbearable:—-from simplicity, singn- larity, end single blessedness, good Lord deliver us! and, quick as thought, the ill-fated rose buds were lying at her feet, and again the ebon tresses waved over her white neck and shoulders unconfined.

We will now leave the capricious beauty to arrange her own bright locks, and follow the half-vexed Rose to her own simple toilette. Her hair was dressed by Na- ture; the soft chesnut curls shaded a neck and brow of pearly whiteness, unconfined and unadorned. A flow- ing robe of snowy white veiled her sylph-like form, con- fined at the waste by a ceinture of silver embroidery, fastened by a pearly clasp,—the only ornament that graced the form of sweet Rose Newell. We must par- don the smile that dimpled her glowing cheeks as her image stole asly glance from her sparkling eyes in pass- ing again the mirror, as she hied to her cousin’s apart- ment—-to behold the fabric of splendor, reared upon the ruins of her own pure and simple taste. The beautiful hair of Edna was half concealed beneath the broad glit- tering tiara that adorned, or, rather, deformed her brow. She was arrayed in a bodice of white satin, embroidered with silver, with a flowing skirt of azure, and golden eer: . A i necklace, and bracelets to match, completed the queenly attire of the beaut : idolized Edna Newell. eer aee

‘Oh, Edna! exclaimed the half-frownine

‘ Ah, Rosa!’ echoed her cousin, _—

‘I would scorn to marry the man who could thus be won,’ sighed the modest maiden, as she picked up one of her unfortunate rose buds, and placed it carelessly in her belt. |

‘And when lam Lady De Lisle,;whispered Edna, ‘1 will publish all my sweet cousin’s works on ‘ The Beau- ty of Simplicity, and the ‘ Pleasures of Single Life,’ to- gether with sundry Essays on ‘ Domestic Economy,’ ‘Coquettery, &c. &c.’

Rosa blushed, but a kiss from Edna sealed their peace.

A scene of enchanting beauty was presented at the assembly thatevening. The softest shaded lights shed haloes around the angelic features of youth and joyous beauty, while the sweetest exotics lent their breath to perfume the evening air, as mirth, music, and splendor, seemed contending for the reign. Rosa was enraptur- ed,—not that she cared for display or coveted admiration —not that she experienced any pleasure in listening to the insipid conversation of the gallant and the gay. But she secretly worshipped the beautiful: and her whole soul was devoted to music. Thus was she happy in her innocence and simplicity. Not so her beautiful cousin, the bright diadem sat heavily on her brow, as her wan- dering eyes sought in vain the form of the handsome

{Stranger. At length a most fantastically dressed young

gentleman made his appearance in the crowd.

‘Ah, he comes she murmured; ‘that can be ne

am to storm the fortress of a hitherto invincible heart!