A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.

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Bow down her fair but fragile form, her brilliant brow

o'ercast,

And make her beauty-like her bliss-a shadow of the

past!

Years came and went-we met again,—but what a change was there!

The glossy calmness of the eye, that whispered of despair;

The fitful flushing of the cheek-the lips compressed and thin,

The clench of the attenuate hands,--proclaimed the strife within!

Yet for each ravaged charm of earth some pitying power had given

Beauty, of more than mortal birth-a spell that breathed of heaven;

And as she bent, resigned and meek, beneath the chastening blow,

With all a martyr's fervid faith her features seemed to glow!

No wild reproach, no bitter word, in that sad hour was spoken,

For hopes deceived, for love betrayed, and plighted pledges broken ;

Like Him who for his murderers prayed, she wept, but did not chide,

And her last orisons arose for him for whom she died!

Thus, thus, too oft the traitor man repays fond woman's truth;

Thus blighting, in his wild caprice, the blossoms of her youth:

And sad it is, in griefs like these, o'er visions loved and

lost,

That the truest and the tenderest heart must always

suffer most!

THE LAST SWALLOW.

BY RICHARD HOWITT.

AWAY, away, why dost thou linger here,
When all thy fellows o'er the sea have passed?
Wert thou the earliest comer of the year,
Loving our land, and so dost stay the last?
And is the sound of growing streams unheard?
Dost thou not see the woods are fading fast,

Whilst the dull leaves with wailful winds are stirred? Haste, haste to other climes, thou solitary bird!

Thy coming was in lovelier skies-thy wing,
Long wearied, rested in delightful bowers;
Thou camest when the living breath of spring
Had filled the world with gladness and with flowers!
Skyward the carolling lark no longer towers-
Alone we hear the robin's pensive lay;

And from the sky of beauty darkness lours: Thy coming was with hope, but thou didst stay 'Midst melancholy thoughts, that dwell upon decay.

Blessed are they who have before thee fled!
Their's have been all the pleasures of the prime;
Like those who die before their joys are dead,
Leaving a lovely for a lovelier clime,

Soaring to beautiful worlds on wings sublime;
Whilst thou dost mind me of their doom severe,
Who live to feel the winter of their time;
Who linger on, till not a friend is near,

Then fade into the grave-and go without a tear.

BRING BACK THE CHAIN!

BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON.

Ir was an aged man, who stood
Beside the blue Atlantic sea;
They cast his fetters by the flood,
And hailed the time-worn captive free!
From his indignant eye there flashed
A gleam his better nature gave,
And while his tyrants shrunk abashed,
Thus spoke the spirit-stricken slave :-

"Bring back the chain, whose weight so long These tortured limbs have vainly borne; The word of Freedom from your tongue, My weary ear rejects with scorn! 'Tis true, there was-there was a time, I sighed, I panted to be free; And, pining for my sunny clime,

Bowed down my stubborn knee.

"Then I have stretched my yearning arms,
And shook in wrath my bitter chain ;-
Then, when the magic word had charms,
I groaned for liberty in vain!

That freedom ye, at length, bestow,

And bid me bless my envied fate:
Ye tell me I am free to go-
Where?-I am desolate!

"The boundless hope-the spring of joy, Felt when the spirit's strength is young; Which slavery only can alloy,

The mockeries to which I clung,—

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BRING BACK THE CHAIN.

The eyes, whose fond and sunny ray
Made life's dull lamp less dimly burn,—
The tones I pined for, day by day,
Can ye bid them return?

66 Bring back the chain! its clanking sound
Hath then a power beyond your own;
It brings young visions smiling round,
Too fondly loved-too early flown!
It brings me days, when these dim eyes
Gazed o'er the wild and swelling sea,
Counting how many suns must rise
Ere one might hail me free!

think

"Bring back the chain! that I may
'Tis that which weighs my spirit so:
And, gazing on each galling link,

Dream as I dreamt-of bitter woe!
My days are gone ;-of hope, of youth,
These traces now alone remain;
(Hoarded with sorrow's sacred truth)
Tears, and my iron chain!

"Freedom! though doomed in pain to live,
The freedom of the soul is mine;
But all of slavery you could give,
Around my steps must ever twine.
Raise up the head which age hath bent;
Renew the hopes that childhood gave;
Bid all return kind Heaven once lent,-
Till then-I am a Slave!"

COULDST THOU BUT KNOW.

BY LADY CAROLINE LAMB.

COULDST thou but know what 'tis to weep-
To weep unpitied and alone,

The livelong night, whilst others sleep,
Silent and mournful watch to keep,-

Thou wouldst not do what I have done.

Couldst thou but know what 'tis to smile,
To smile when scorned by every one;
To hide, by many an artful wile,

A heart that knows more grief than guile,—
Thou wouldst not do what I have done.

And, oh! if thou couldst think how drear,
When friends are changed, and health is gone,
The world would to thine eyes appear,

If thou, like me, to none wert dear,-
Thou wouldst not do what I have done.

ABJURATION.

BY MISS BOWLES.

THERE was a time-sweet time of youthful folly !
Fantastic woes I courted, feigned distress;
Wooing the veiled phantom, Melancholy,
With passion born, like Love, "in idleness."

And, like a lover-like a jealous lover,
I hid mine idol, with a miser's art,

(Lest vulgar eyes her sweetness should discover), Close in the inmost chambers of mine heart.