And the last of that great line And yet he was but friend to one, By some lone fountain fringed with green: He lived (none else would he obey MIRANDA. BY SHAKSPEARE. ADMIRED Miranda ! Indeed the top of admiration; worth What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owned HERMIONE. BY BARRY CORNWALL. THOU hast beauty bright and fair, Eyes that are untouched by care: Thou hast reason quick and strong, And a voice, itself a song! What then can we still desire? Hermione, Hermione? Something thou dost want, O queen! Tears, amid thy laughter seen, This is all we ask from thee, THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. BY H. T. TUCKERMAN. FOR Fame life's meaner records vainly strive, While, in fresh beauty, thy high dreams survive. Still Vesta's temple throws its classic shade O'er the bright foam of Tivoli's cascade, And to one Venus still we bow the knee, Divine as if just issued from the sea; In fancy's trance, yet deem on nights serene, We hear the revels of the fairy queen, That Dian's smile illumes the marble fane, And Ceres whispers in the rustling grain, That Ariel's music has not died away, And in his shell still floats the culprit Fay. The sacred beings of poetic birth Immortal live to consecrate the earth. San Marco's pavement boasts no Doge's tread, Yet as we muse beneath some dim arcade, While Desdemona, beauteous as of yore, Yields us the smile that once entranced the How Scotland's vales are peopled to the heart Along this fern moved Jeannie's patient feet, Beside each stream, down every glen they throng, The cherished offspring of creative song! Long ere brave Nelson shook the Baltic shore, Some pensive hero, musing o'er the deep, A FOREST WALK. BY ALFRED B. STREET. A LOVELY sky, a cloudless sun, A wind that breathes of leaves and flowers, Traced by the browsing herds, I choose, Sweet forest-odours have their birth From the clothed boughs and teeming earth; Where pine-cones dropp'd, leaves piled and dead, Long tufts of grass, and stars of fern, |