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TO THE RIVER RHONE.

BY HENRY NEELE, ESQ.

RUSH on, rush on, heaven-tinted Rhone,
Ye deep blue waves rush on, rush on;
O'er many a weary league I've past,
To gaze upon thy face at last;
And many a league must traverse still,
By spreading main, and soaring hill,
Ere aught the enraptured eye shall see
So bright, so blue-save heaven and thee!

Child of the Alps! loveliest of all

The streams that down their steep sides fall;
The heaven, so near thy nursing place,
Has left its brightness on thy face,
And earth, exulting in her guest,
Gathering her noblest and her best

Of lake, mead, mountain, wood, has thrown
All o'er thy path, majestic Rhone!

Sweet summer's eve! how oft I've gazed
On all the magic thou hast raised!
I've seen thee on Plinlimmon's steep,
Treasures of gold and purple heap;
I've seen thee, when Augusta's spires
Seemed columns of heaven-kindled fires;
I've seen thy long, long lines of glory
Fall o'er the ocean deep and hoary!

But where the mountain-born, the Rhone,
Darts with the lightning's swiftness on;
And where the everlasting Alps
Lift to the sky their snowy scalps;
And where, upon Lake Leman's breast,
Heaven's azure hues more heavenly rest,
As, when the prophet's mantle fell,
'T was hallowed with a double spell;

There-there-thou spread'st thy loveliest dyes;
The mountains mingle with the skies;
The blushing vines, and waving corn,
Seem children of the sun, new born!
The soul, caught upon wings of love,
Communes with happier souls above;
Burst is the separating girth,

And earth is heaven, and heaven is earth!

Sweet stream! born 'midst the eternal hills,

The brightest of a thousand rills!

Heaven still reflected in thy face,

What course soe'er thy swift waves trace;
And still to the unfathomed sea
Speeding; methinks I read in thee,
And thy blue waters, as they roll,

An emblem of the human soul.—

Like thee, a thing whose source is found
Far, far above terrestrial ground;

Like thee, it should not, while on earth,
Lose all the splendour of its birth;
But ever bear upon its breast
Celestial images imprest;

Till mingled with the illimitable sea,
The swelling ocean of eternity!

Hommage aux Dames.

THE RETURN.

"I came to the place of my birth and cried, 'The friends of my youth, where are they?' and an echo made answer, 'Where are they?'"

THE friends with whom in youth I roved these woodland shades

among,

Have ceased their kindly sympathies, the birds have ceased song;

their

Stern ruin sheds around the spot her melancholy hue!

She withers all she looks upon-and I am withered too!

For me no more yon merry bells shall peal their evening chime;
Or village minstrels on the green attune their rustic rhyme ;—
The church that rose so stately once is falling to decay;
The shepherd and his peaceful flock have long since passed away.

Some aged stragglers wander still these solitudes among-
I dare not listen to their voice,—it murmurs like the song
Of waves that dash upon the coast of Time for evermore,
And tell of tides that have gone by-of sunshine that is o'er!

Where once my mother's cottage stood, with fence of liveliest green,

A darksome marsh disperses now its vapours o'er the scene; Rude winter showers its drifting snows around the aged thorn, And withered is the yew that marked the spot where I was born.

The hamlet friends that once were mine are cold beneath the sod,
Or bowed to earth in agony, by Care's envenomed rod;—
The blight of utter solitude has rifled this sweet scene,
And nought but mouldering stones remain to tell of what has
been.

The cheerful children I have known adorn these meadows gay Have sobered into manhood,-have dreamed their youth away; And darkly dawns the morning sun that brings their hour of waking,

Their sleep is o'er-their spirit now has no relief but breaking.

F

Hark! 't is the raven's voice I hear from yonder ivied tower,
Where many a time I 've whiled away the solitary hour;
It whispers to my aching heart the dismal tale of truth:
"Thy friends are dead, and fled for aye, the visions of thy youth."

But slowly sinks the evening sun,- sad reveries, away!
Fain would my fancy still prolong each gleam of parting day;
Fain would I view my boyhood's haunts by eve's decreasing light;
It may not be the sun has set—and all around is night!

Farewell, ye scenes to memory dear-Time warns me to depart;
I dare not speak-conflicting griefs are busy at my heart;
To other eyes thy shades may still all bright and beauteous be;
But never more can they be bright and beautiful to me!

THE SECRET.

In a young lady's heart once a secret was lurking;
It tossed and it tumbled, it longed to get out:
The lips half betrayed it by smiling and smirking,
And the tongue was impatient to blab it, no doubt.

But Honour looked gruff on the subject, and gave it
In charge to the teeth, so enchantingly white-
Should the captive attempt an elopement, to save it
By giving the lips an admonishing bite.

'T was said, and 't was settled, and Honour departed;
Tongue quivered and trembled, but dared not rebel;
When right to its tip, Secret suddenly started,

And, half in a whisper, escaped from its cell.

Quoth the teeth, in a pet, we'll be even for this;
And they bit very smartly above and beneath;
But the lips at that instant were bribed with a kiss,
And they popt out the Secret, in spite of the teeth.

TO THE PICTURE OF A DEAD GIRL,

ON

FIRST SEEING IT.

BY T. K. HERVEY, ESQ.

THE same-and oh! how beautiful!-the same
As memory meets thee through the mist of years!·
Love's roses on thy cheek, and feeling's flame
Lighting an eye unchanged in all-but tears!
Upon thy severed lips the very smile

Remembered well, the sunlight of my youth;
But gone the shadow that would steal, the while,
To mar its brightness, and to mock its truth!-
Once more I see thee, as I saw thee last,
The lost restored,-the vision of the past!

How like to what thou wert- and art not now!
Yet oh, how more resembling what thou art;
There dwells no cloud upon that pictured brow,
As sorrow sits no longer in thy heart;
Gone where its very wishes are at rest,

And all its throbbings hushed, and achings healed; -
I gaze, till half I deem thee to my breast,
In thine immortal loveliness, revealed;

And see thee, as in some permitted dream,

There where thou art what here thou dost but seem!

I loved thee passing well;-thou wert a beam

Of pleasant beauty on this stormy sea,
With just so much of mirth as might redeem
Man from the musings of his misery;

Yet ever pensive,-like a thing from home!
Lovely and lonely as a single star!

But kind and true to me, as thou hadst come
From thine own element- -so very far,

Only to be a cynosure to eyes

Now sickening at the sunshine of the skies!

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