All dream that they are faithful, but how few

Are to their promise firm, their honour true;

Change not with Fortune's breath, and stand through years, Beyond the range of fickleness and fears.

He was not what he had been-nor was she

At least within his soul so reckon'd he ;

She had not now that place within his mind,
Whose holy bounds from worldly dross refined,
Was purified to loveliness, and made

A light to which the sunshine was like shade:
She seem'd not now, as she had been of
yore,
A form to which the earth no likeness bore;
She was not now the soul of his delight,
His earliest thought at morn, his last at night;
The spell, whose name, when utter'd, could impart
The thrill of rapture to his conscious heart :-

In his soul's mirror Ellen had grown dim,

And yet she was unchanged-though not for him!—
Like one who gazes with profound delight
Upon the landscape on a lovely night,
A thousand beauties blended, as the beam
Plays on the hill, the forest, and the stream,
How beautiful! then upward turns his eye
To the moon that cloudless traverses the sky-

Lo! the sight dazzles, and the scenes below
Have lost their lustre, and forget to glow!

Thus oft the finer impulses of mind,

When hopes have been beguiled, and fate unkind,
And youthful visions, fairy-tinged and bright,
But syren scenes, and harbingers of night,
Weaken'd become-when friendship's holy ray
Has sunk to gloom, with love's diviner day,
When all the charms that mantled childhood's scene,
Have lost their scented bloom, their living green;
When wintry robes o'er human life are spread;
When all the fire that warm'd the heart is dead;
And man's diviner thoughts to shipwreck hurl'd
Within the Torryvrieken of the world!

Yet faithful Ellen lived, and far too true,

And though slow time crept by, her passion grew;
The wood, the river side, the sloping hill,
Wherever they had stray'd, she haunted still,
And every tree, and path, and prospect brought
Some long remember'd pleasure to her thought,
Some happy feelings, whose delightful glow
Had lighted up her bosom long ago!

And oft at balmy eventide she came

Before the tree, where he had carved her name,
And twined it with his own within a heart,
As if they were but one, and could not part:
Then she would sigh, nor deem'd herself forgot,
And Hope shed flickerings on her future lot.
But why so seldom hear of him? before
Comfort came frequent, and it promised more.
Yet now-and still a thousand fancies came,
Neglect to pardon, and excuse to frame;
The winds had long been adverse, or more near
Himself might be-then wherefore did she fear?
Thus often did she soothe her troubled mind,
And in ideal bliss a comfort find;

But day in mental darkness follow'd day,
And month succeeding month revolved away,
And brought no cheering tokens to impart
Relief or solace to a sinking heart.

At length her doubts were clear'd-though not by him,
And darkness swallow'd what before was dim ;
The truth like lightning flash'd upon her sight,
Destroy'd her mental day, and left her night.

And thus, as in simplicity of song

My verse unfolds, she pined in silence long;

Soon waned upon her cheek the roses fair;
Neglected was her neatness, loose her hair,
And not, as in her days of youthful pride
And ardent hope, with wreathy beauty tied ;
Yet those who knew her not had never guess'd
That wan despair was working in her breast,
And had with noiseless tide begun to roll
Dark tempests o'er the ocean of her soul;
For silent was her eye, and mute her lips.-
A cloud had pass'd before her to eclipse
The springtide of her loveliness, and made
That which was sunshine once, disastrous shade;
And thus she pined, a flowret of the spring,
Struck by the lightning flash, and withering
On its fresh stalk: none ever guess'd the cause..
She grew the very dream of what she was,
A phantom of the past that had its birth
In our green world, and still revisited earth :
There came no gloom to blot her outward light,
And, to her hour of setting, she was bright,
Bright as the radiance, when, at morning hour,
The silver moon descends to ocean's bower,
Tinges the wave with horizontal ray,
And in effulgent meekness melts away!

THE

MINER OF PERU.

Love's holy flame for ever burneth;
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth ;
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,

At times deceived, at times opprest.

It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in heaven its perfect rest:

It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of Love is there.

SOUTHEY.

HUSH! how the night-wind in the chimney roars!
And round and round the wailing of the forest,
Rearing in vain its green head to the storm,
Breaks in ; and, adding to the dreariness,

The noise of rushing streams and shatter'd boughs;
While, ever and anon, the desolate plashing,