THE DIMPLE.

IN bating hooks with tears and smiles
Young Love had spent the day;
But while he other folks beguiles,
Sleep steals the thief away.

On softest couch he now would seek
His weary head to rest,

He sees the bloom of Fanny's cheek,
And there he makes his nest.

There slept he on a fairer bed
Than did Olympus grace;
Her dimpling cheek, when he had fled,
Confessed his ling'ring trace.

O Love! in pity now, I pray,
Your friendly aid impart;

Tear from her smile your trace away,

Or leave it on her heart.

W. E. SURTEES, M. A.

DISDAIN RETURNING.

He that loves a rosie cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return;
I have search'd thy soul within,

And find nought but pride and scorn;
I have learn'd thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou.

Some Pow'r in my revenge, convey
That love to her I cast away.

CAREW.

THE CONFESSION.

THERE is a language by the virgin made, Not read but felt, not utter'd but betray'd, A mute communion, yet so wondrous sweet, Eyes must impart what tongue can ne'er repeat.

'Tis written on her cheeks and meaning brows;

In one short glance whole volumes it avows; In one short moment tells of many days,

In one short speaking silence all conveys. Joy, sorrow, love, recounts,-hope, pity, fear, And looks a sigh, and weeps without a tear. Oh! 'tis so chaste, so touching, so refined,, So soft, so wistful, so sincere, so kind!

Were eyes melodious,

shower

and could music

From orient rays new striking on a flower, Such heavenly music from that glance might

rise,

And angels own the music of the skies.

E. S. BARRET.

SWEET ARE THE CHARMS OF HER I LOVE.

SWEET are the charms of her I love,
More fragrant than the damask rose,
Soft as the down of turtle-dove,
Gentle as air when Zephyr blows,
Refreshing as descending rains

To sun-burnt climes, and thirsty plains.

True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun;
Constant as gliding waters roll,

Whose swelling tides obey the moon;
From every other charmer free,
My life and love shall follow thee.

The lamb the flowery thyme devours,
The dam the tender kid pursues;
Sweet Philomel, in shady bowers

Of verdant spring, her note renews;
All follow what they most admire,
As I pursue my soul's desire,

Nature must change her beauteous face,
And vary as the seasons rise;

As winter to the spring gives place,
Summer th' approach of autumn flies:
No change in love the seasons bring,
Love only knows perpetual spring.
Devouring Time, with stealing pace,
Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;
And marble towers, and gates of brass,
In his rude march he levels low:
But Time, destroying far and wide,
Love from the soul can ne'er divide.

Death only with his cruel dart,

The gentle godhead can remove; And drive him from the bleeding heart To mingle with the bless'd above, Where, known to all his kindred train, He finds a lasting rest from pain.

Love, and his sister fair, the soul,

Twin-born, from heaven together came: Love will the universe control,

When dying seasons lose their name; Divine abodes shall own his power

When time and death shall be no more.

BOOTH.