A LYRIC OF THE HEART.

WRITTEN BENEATH A PORTRAIT.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

Time cannot thin thy flowing hair,

Nor take one ray of light from thee;

For in my fancy thou dost share

The gift of immortality.

WORDSWORTH.

I.

THOU wert fair when first we met,

As a youthful Poet's dream;

Thou art lovely still, but yet,

Where, oh where's the vernal gleam

That around thy footsteps hung,

When our hearts and hopes were young?

II.

Thou wert joyous as the bird,

When its first wild flight it tries; And thy slightest whispered word, Breathed the mirth of summer skies; Thou art silent now when glad; Serious ever-sometimes sad!

III.

Thou didst love, in other years,
Songs of light and joyous flow;
But the strains that stir thy tears,
Are thy cherished pastime now:
Thou hast learned to gather gladness
From the very springs of sadness!

IV.

Yes, thy blue eye's changing light,
Shot a keener radiance then;
And thy smile, once dazzling bright,
Ne'er can be so bright again!

Let each faithless grace depart,
Spring can never leave thy heart!

V.

It is warm as ever, still;

Fond and faithful to the core ; Withering sorrow cannot chill,

Would it ne'er might wring it more! Years may dim the rose of youth, So they spare the bosom's truth!

VI.

Time, and his twin sister, Care,

Have but lightly touched thy brow; And the lines imprinted there,

Never lovelier seemed than now; For they breathe the spell refined, Of a sorrow-chastened mind!

VII.

Wherefore, then, should I repine,
That thou art not as of old,

Since maturer gifts are thine;

Precious treasures-wealth untold

;

Charms, thy youth could never know;

Graces, time alone bestow !

VIII.

If we are not what we were,

We have not endured in vain ;

Since the present hour is fair,
Why evoke the past again?
Am not I, and art not thou,
Calmer-wiser-happier now!

SOCIETY.

BY THOMAS MAUDE.

PUNCTUAL at six, at Tristram's door I knock-
The well-lit hall reverberates to the shock.
Pass we the muster, and (not passed so soon)
The banquet pass-and lo, the bright saloon!
Where female forms the vision charm anew,
And fragrant lymphs the claret's warmth subdue.

The lights are set, soft sylphic forms surround
The harpsichord-and notes prelusive sound.
Now essenced bores, all listless and inert,
The soft settees unwillingly desert,
And flutter mid the girls and music books,
With all the mild blue devils in their looks.

But lo! two sister paragons of charms

Draw the white gloves from off the whiter arms;
While round with hesitating looks they turn
To maids that envy, and to sparks that burn;
And, whispering each the other in low tone,
While either takes the seat prescribed her own,
Down (ah! with palpitating hearts) they sit,
And charm the audience with their new duet.

Hark! ere the last shake yet hath ceased to thrill
The polished hearts that bound responsive still,
Swells plaintive from the chords a Scottish air;
Float soft the mingling words "My heart is sair!"
"Oh! hon for somebody!" breathes wildly sweet
From lips with all youth's balmy dews replete.
See Scotus now! He writhes in well-bred pain-
What tortures Scotus in that soothing strain ?*
The air-the words-ah, coxcomb, can it be?
Pho! we forget the man's from Italy!
Piquing himself on his fastidious taste,

He likes nought (save in morals) but what's chaste;

The reader will remember Captain Clutterbuck's complaint. "The club at Kennaquhair," says he, "are turned fastidious since Catalani visited the Abbey. My Poortith Cauld,' has been received both poorly and coldly, and the 'Banks of Bonnie Doon' have been positively coughed down. Tempora mutantur."- See Introductory Epistle to the Fortunes of Nigel, p. 35.

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