Oh! sweet as Love, ere blunted by possession!
Sweet as the " vernal joy" by nature sent
Into the soul of man! whose best expression
Is in the heart's unspoken language; lent
To light our dulness, and with sweet aggression
Forcing old Night and Chaos to relent,
To waft aside the universal veil,

And make Creation's beauties visible.

Thou teachest man, that there is more on earth
Than what he hears, or sees, or feels, or knows;
An inward treasure, of uncounted worth,

Hid like the invisible honey in the rose;
A world of wonders, -a mysterious birth,
Which thou but to thy chosen dost disclose;
An immaterial glory, passing far

All palpable light of gem, or sun, or star :

A cloud of beauty brooding o'er the world

*

Great spirit! beneath whose full-exerted power
Our bodily frame doth tremble, like a bough
Rock'd by the wind; before whom, in thy hour
Of charmed potence, the great mind doth bow
In royalest submission, with her dower

Of gifts and graces; yet can lift her brow
Triumphant, and with thee strange contest hold
Controlling thee, and yet by thee controll'd.

For she can grasp thy influences, that fly
As vague and viewless as the folding air,
And fix them in her clayey moulds, thereby
To shape them into forms so glorious fair,
(Tho' spoil'd of half their might) that the great eye
Of earth shall, while time lasts, be riveted there;
The trophies of her splendid strife with thee,
Crowning that strife with immortality.

G. M.

SONNET,

TO CATHARINE SEYTON,

So thou would'st tempt me, pretty Neophyte,
Me, bred in those learn'd halls whose sons erst broke,
With arm polemic, Rome's usurped yoke,
Though all unfit to wage with eyes so bright
And smiles so sweet the controversial fight;
Me, whom no few as Methodist assail,

Me thou would'st tempt to quit the happy pale
Of England's Church, to pope and priest my right
Of thought resigning. Cherish, gentle friend,

The new-found light, if light it be, and tread
Thy clouded path to heaven; and let me wend
My way, with difficulty sore bested,

Nor needing more incumbrances, alone,
Free from thy Church's fetters, and thy own!

R. S.

BOUNCE.

optata luce fruatur."-VIRG.

TIME and Fortune! mighty powers,

Rulers of creation,

Ye, on whom these hearts of ours
Wait in expectation ;-

Time and Fortune! have ye not,

In your sunless treasure,

One unmingled happy lot

One enduring pleasure?

Time! there is but one whose bliss

Baffles thy enhancing ;

He, who finds in Lucy's kiss

Pleasures past advancing!

By the side of the Latin way, amidst many other mementos of fallen greatness or faded beauty, there arose a small pillar of white marble, bearing neither emblem nor inscription. The singular simplicity of its appearance frequently excited the attention and inquiries of the passers-by, but no one gratified their curiosity. She whom that marble commemorated was known to few; and those who remembered her told not of her virtues; for they shrank from the pain they felt in the recital.

Julia was the daughter of distinguished and wealthy parents, in the reign of Tiberius. She was an only child, and had been educated with the fondest attention. When she attained her eighteenth year she was very beautiful: she was taller than most women; her nose was acquiline, her hair dark and glossy; the smile that played on her lips was provokingly arch, and in her large blue eyes dignity was inexpressibly combined with tenderness. The qualities of her heart were not inferior to those of her person; so that it is not be wondered at that the hand of Julia was solicited in marriage by the heirs of many of the first families in Rome.

But she had early given away her affections to the son of her father's brother. Young Coelius was younger than his cousin, and fortune had given him a lower station in life, and a humbler property. He was very handsome however, very accomplished, and perfectly amiable; so that the parents of Julia made no difficulty of acceding to the match. The preliminary ceremonies had been gone through: the hallowed straw had been broken between the young couple; the dower had been settled; the Augurs had been consulted, and had returned a favourable answer. Finally, Coelius had presented to his future bride the sacred ring, which was to be the pledge of their eternal affection. It was a plain circle of gold, with the inscription "in æternum!" It was customary to put these rings upon the fourth finger of the left hand, because it was imagined that a vein ran immediately from that finger to the heart. It was a foolish superstition, but Cœlius was observed to shudder when Julia placed her ring upon the wrong finger.

One of the rejected suitors of Julia was a favourite with the Emperor. When our tale is of a creature so pure and so unhappy as Julia, we cannot waste our time in describing the characters of the wretches by whom her death was effected. It is enough for our purpose to say that Marcius made use of the influence he possessed in such a manner, that the father of Julia trembled for his fortune and his life; he began to retract the engagements by which he was bound to his nephew, and to devise plans for the marriage of his daughter with the court-favourite.

Coelius was an orphan. He had been educated under the same roof with Julia; and his guardians had hitherto been amply repaid for the expense of his maintenance by the reflection that they were instructing the husband of their child. Now, however, they began to be vexed by

* Stipula. Hence the term stipulation.

having him always before their eyes; they saw that the accomplishment of their scheme was impossible while he remained with their daughter, and they prepared to remove him. The union of those affectionate hearts was

procrastinated for a long time upon various pretences; at last the young man was sent, in order to complete his education, upon a tour, with permission to return in a year and claim his betrothed bride.

The year passed sadly away. He was forbidden to keep up any correspondence with his cousin until its expiration. At last the happy June arrived which allowed him to return; which permitted him to meet the gaze of those bright eyes, in whose sight only he seemed to live. He flew to Rome on the wings of expectancy!

66

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As he approached the dwelling-place of his hopes, his thoughts, his happiness, circumstances occurred which filled him with the gloomiest forebodings. Several of his young acquaintance, when they met him, shook their heads, and endeavoured to avoid his address. As he passed by the mansion of his once-contemned rival, he observed a slave clad in unusual finery; and "What!" he said, "is Marcius to feast the Emperor to-day ?" Marcius," said the slave, "will feast a fairer guest ;he will bring home his bride to-night!" Cœlius started as if a viper had crossed his path; but he recovered himself immediately. "It was but a suspicion!" he said, " and I will have done with it!" He said no more, but ran on with desperate impetuosity to the well-known door. He heeded not the malicious rumours, and the compassionate whispers, which were circulated around him with a fluttering heart and faltering step he hurried to the chamber which had been the scene of their last parting. As he put his hand upon the door, a thousand visions flocked upon his brain. "Then she was good, and affectionate, and beautiful, and true; and she looked upon me so tenderly, and spoke to me so kindly ;--and now, will her look be as tender, and her