When I have felt the warbled word
From beauty's mouth of perfume sighing,
Sweet as music's hallow'd bird

Upon a rose's bosom lying!

Though form and song, at once combin'd Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill, My heart hath sigh'd, my heart hath pin'd For something softer, lovelier still!

Oh! I have found it all, at last,

In thee, thou sweetest living lyre, Through which the soul hath ever pass'd Its harmonizing breath of fire!

All that my best and wildest dream,
In fancy's hour, could hear or see

Of music's sigh or beauty's beam
Are realiz'd at once in thee!

Ff

LINES

WRITTEN AT

THE COHOS, OR FALLS OF THE MOHAWK RIVER.*

GIA ERA IN LOCO OVE S'UDIA 'L RIMBOMBO
DELL' ACQUA....................................................

Dante,

FROM rise of morn till set of sun
I've seen the mighty Mohawk run,
And, as I mark'd the woods of pine
Along his mirror darkly shine,
Like tall and gloomy forms that pass
Before the wizards' 'midnight glass;
And as I view'd the hurrying pace
With which he ran his turbid race,

* There is a dreary and savage character in the country imme diately about these Falls, which is much more in harmony with the wildness of such a scene, than the cultivated lands in the neighbourhood of Niagara. See the drawing of them in Mr. Weld's book. According to him, the perpendicular height of the Cohos fall is fifty feet; but the Marquis de Chastellux make it seventy-six.

The fine rainbow, which is continually forming and dissolving, as the spray rises into the light of the sun, is perhaps the most interesting beauty which these wonderful cataracts exhibit.

Rushing, alike untir'd and wild,

Through shades that frown'd and flowers that smil'd, Flying by every green recess

That woo'd him to its calm caress,

Yet, sometimes turning with the wind,

As if to leave one look behind!

Oh! I have thought, and thinking sigh'd-
How like to thee, thou restless tide!
May be the lot, the life of him,

Who roams along thy water's brim ?
Through what alternate shades of wo,
And flowers of joy, my path may go!
How many an humble, still retreat
May rise to court my weary feet,
While still pursuing, still unblest,
I wander on, nor dare to rest!
But, urgent as the doom that calls
Thy water to its destin'd falls,
I see the world's bewildering force
Hurry my heart's devoted course
From lapse to lapse, till life be done,
And the lost current cease to run!
Oh may my falls be bright as thine!
May heaven's forgiving rainbow shine
Upon the mist that circles me,
As soft, as now it hangs o'er thee!

I OFTEN wish that thou wert dead,
And I beside thee calmly sleeping;
Since love is o'er and passion fled,

And life has nothing worth our keeping!

No-common souls may bear decline

Of all, that throbb'd them once so high; But hearts, that beat like thine and mine, Must still love on-love on or die!

'Tis true, our early joy was such,

That nature could not bear the excess ! It was too much-for life too muchThough life be all a blank with less!

To see that eye, so cold, so still,

Which once, O God! could melt in bliss

No, no, I cannot bear the chill;

Hate, burning hate, were heaven to this!

CLORIS AND FANNY.

CLORIS! if I were Persia's king,

I'd make my graceful queen of thee; While FANNY, wild and artless thing, Should but thy humble handmaid be.

There is but one objection in it—
That, verily, I'm much afraid

I should, in some unlucky minute,

Forsake the mistress for the maid!