SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

BY LORD BYRON.

HE walks in beauty, like the night

SH

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half-impaired the nameless grace,
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face:
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

T

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.

BY LORD BYRON.

HIS faint resemblance of thy charms,

Though strong as mortal art could give,

My constant heart of fear disarms,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave, The cheek which sprung from beauty's mold, The lips which made me beauty's slave.

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue;

But where's the beam so sweetly straying,

Which gave a luster to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,

Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul,

Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast control.

Through hours, through years, through time, 'twill cheer;

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;

In life's last conflict 'twill appear,

And meet my fond expiring gaze.

66

AN EVE IN HER EDEN.

FROM THE SENSITIVE-PLANT," BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

HERE was a Power in this sweet place,

THE

An Eve in this Eden; a ruling grace

Which to the flowers did they waken or dream,

Was as God is to the starry scheme.

A Lady, the wonder of her kind,

Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind

Which, dilating, had molded her mien and motion.
Like a sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean,

Tended the garden from morn to even :
And the meteors of that sublunar heaven,

Like the lamps of the air when Night walks forth,
Laughed round her footsteps up from the earth!

She had no companion of mortal race,

But her tremulous breath and her flushing face
Told, whilst the moon kissed the sleep from her eyes,
That her dreams were less slumber than Paradise:

As if some bright Spirit for her sweet sake

Had deserted heaven while the stars were awake,
As if yet around her he lingering were,

Though the veil of daylight concealed him from her.

Her step seemed to pity the grass it prest;
You might hear by the heaving of her breast,
That the coming and going of the wind

Brought pleasure there and left passion behind.

And wherever her airy footstep trod,
Her trailing hair from the grassy sod
Erased its light vestige, with shadowy sweep,
Like a sunny storm o'er the dark-green deep.

I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet
Rejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet;
I doubt not they felt the spirit that came
From her glowing fingers through all their frame.

She sprinkled bright water from the stream
On those that were faint with the sunny beam;
And out of the cups of the heavy flowers
She emptied the rain of the thunder-showers.

She lifted their heads with her tender hands, And sustained them with rods and osier bands; If the flowers had been her own infants she Could never have nursed them more tenderly.

S

RUTH.

BY THOMAS HOOD.

HE stood breast-high amid the corn,

Clasped by the golden light of morn,

Like the sweetheart of the sun

Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripened—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,

Which were blackest none could tell,

But long lashes veiled a light,
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim ;-
Thus she stood amid the stooks
Praising God with sweetest looks.

Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean;
Lay thy sheaf adown, and come,
Share my harvest and my home.

Oh turn again, fair Ines,

Before the fall of night,

For fear the moon should shine alone,

And stars unrivaled bright;

And blessed will the lover be