And broken is the only link That chained youth's pleasant thoughts to me! Alas! that thou couldst know decay That, sighing, I should live to say, "The cold grave holdeth thee!" For me thou shon'st, as shines a star, And art thou gone? I deemed thee some I saw thee laid within the tomb, Once to have loved, is to have loved Earth in thy sight was Faëry land ;— Farewell!-and must I say, farewell?— A present thought; thy form shall dwell Thy voice shall mingle with my dreams, Never revives the past again; But thou shalt be, in lonely hours, To me earth's heaven,-the azure main,— ON A HEADLAND IN THE BAY OF PANAMA. BY BARRY CORNWALL. We ran up a small creek, near which was a headland, famous for a sangui. nary battle, at some very remote period, far beyond the memory of man. We were told of fragments of huge bones that had once whitened all the ground there. We ourselves saw none, however; but turned up various fossils, which, for aught we knew to the contrary, might have belonged to some antediluvian giant or hero, who was cotemporary with the mammoth and leviathan. VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY, BY JUAN PABLOS GOMEZ. VAGUE mystery hangs on all these desert places! The fear which hath no name, hath wrought a spell! Strength, courage, wrath-have been, and left no traces! They came, and fled;-but whither?-who can tell! We know but that they were,—that once (in days Methinks they should have built some mighty tomb, Whose granite might endure the century's rain, They left, 't is said, their proud unburied bones A mountain stands where Agamemnon died: And thus the dead Metella earned a name. But these, they vanished as the lightnings die (Their mischiefs over) in the surging deep; And no one knoweth underneath the sky, What heroes perished here, nor where they sleep! Literary Souvenir. X THE SQUIRE'S PEW. BY JANE TAYLOR. A slanting ray of evening light And since those trappings first were new, How many a cloudless day, To rob the velvet of its hue, Has come and passed away! Crumbled beneath the hillock green, And now the worm hath done her part In days of yore (as now we call), All seated round in order due, With 'broidered suit and buckled shoe. On damask cushions decked with fringe, Each holding in a lily hand, Responsive to the priest's command. Now, streaming down the vaulted aisle, And there, in marble hard and cold, Outstretched together are expressed With hands uplifted on the breast, Long-visaged, clad in amour, he,- Set forth in order, as they died, For past omissions to atone, Those mellow days are past and dim; In regular descent from him, Have filled the stately pew; And in the same succession go To occupy the vault below. And now the polished, modern squire, And his gay train appear; Who duly to the Hall retire, A season every year: And fill the seats with belle and beau, As 't was so many years ago. Perchance, all thoughtless as they tread The hollow-sounding floor Of that dark house of kindred dead, |