There coolness comes not with the cooling breeze-
There music flows not with the gushing rill-
There shadows come not from the spreading trees-
Unslaked, the eternal fever burneth still!

Mock us not, Nature, with that symbol vain
Of hope succeeding hope, through endless years-
Earth's buds may burst-earth's groves be green again,
But man-can man forget youth's bitter tears!
I thirst-I thirst! but duller day by day
Grow the clogg'd soarings of my spirit's wing:
Faintly the sap of life slow ebbs away,
And the worn heart denies a second spring.

SONG.

By HARTLEY COLERIDGE, son of the great S. T. Coleridge, having almost the genius and even more than the misery of his parent. But these verses are all joyous.

'Tis sweet to hear the merry lark,

That bids a blithe good-morrow;

But sweeter to hark, in the twinkling dark,
To the soothing song of sorrow.

Oh, nightingale! What doth she ail?
And is she sad or jolly?

For ne'er on earth was sound of mirth
So like to melancholy.

The merry lark, he soars on high,
No worldly thought o'ertakes him ;
He sings aloud to the clear blue sky,
And the daylight that awakes him.
As sweet a lay, as loud, as gay,
The nightingale is trilling;
With feeling bliss no less than his
Her little heart is thrilling.

Yet ever and anon a sigh

Peers through her lavish mirth ;
For the lark's bold song is of the sky,
And her's is of the earth.

By night and day she tunes her lay,
To drive away all sorrow;
For bliss, alas! to night may pass,
And woe may come to-morrow.

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.

By ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

"So the dreams depart,

So the fading phantoms flee,
And the sharp reality

Now must act its part

Westwood's "Beads from a Rosary.”

LITTLE Ellie sits alone

Mid the beeches of a meadow,
By a stream-side, on the grass:
And the trees are showering down
Doubles of their leaves in shadow,
On her shining hair and face.

She has thrown her bonnet by;
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow-
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands, all sleek and dripping,
While she rocketh to and fro.

Little Ellie sits alone,-
And the smile she softly useth

Fills the silence like a speech,
While she thinks what shall be done,-

And the sweetest pleasure chooseth

For her future within reach !

"I will have a lover,

Riding on a steed of steeds!

He shall love me without guile;

And to him I will discover

That Swan's Nest among the reeds.

"And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble,

With an eye that takes the breath,—
And the lute he plays upon
Shall strike ladies into trouble,

As his sword strikes men to death,

"And the steed, it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure,

And the mane shall swim the wind!
And the hoofs, along the sod,
Shall flash onward in a pleasure,
Till the shepherds look behind.

"But my lover will not prize
All the glory that he rides in,
When he gazes in my face!
He will say, 'O Love, thine eyes
Build the shrine my soul abides in,
And I kneel here for thy grace!'

"Then, ay, then-he shall kneel low,-
With the red-roan steed anear him,
Which shall seem to understand-
Till I answer 'Rise and go!
For the world must love and fear him
Whom I gift with heart and hand.'

“Then he will arise so pale,
I shall feel my own lips tremble
With a yes I must not say-
Nathless, maiden-brave, 'Farewell,’

I will utter and dissemble

'Light to-morrow with to-day.'

"Then he will ride through the hills,
To the wide world past the river,
There to put away all wrong!
To make straight distorted wills,——
And to empty the broad quiver
Which the wicked bear along.

"Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain,

And kneel down beside my feet-'Lo! my master sends this gage, Lady, for thy pity's counting!

What wilt thou exchange for it?'

"And the first time I will send
A white rosebud for a guerdon,—
And the second time, a glove!
But the third time-I may bend
From my pride, and answer— Pardon—
If he comes to take my love.'

"Then the young foot-page will runThen my lover will ride faster, Till he kneeleth at my knee! 'I am a duke's eldest son! Thousand serfs do call me master, But, O Love, I love but thee!"

"He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me, as a lover,

Through the crowds that praise his deeds!
And, when soul-tied by one troth,

Unto him I will discover

That Swan's Nest among the reeds."

Little Ellie, with her smile

Not yet ended, rose up gaily,

Tied the bonnet, donn'd the shoe-And went homeward, round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily,

What more eggs were with the two.

Pushing through the elm-tree copse,
Winding by the stream light-hearted,
Where the osier pathway leads-
Past the boughs she stoops and stops!
Lo! the wild Swan had deserted-
And a rat had gnaw'd the reeds.

Ellie went home sad and slow! If she found the lover ever,

With his red-roan steed of steeds,
Sooth I know not! but I know
She could show him never-never,
That Swan's Nest among the reeds!

SONNET.

By DRUMMOND.

I KNOW that all beneath the moon decays,
And what by mortals in this world is brought
In time's great periods shall return to nought;
That fairest states have fatal nights and days.
I know that all the Muses' heavenly lays,
With toil of sprite, which are so dearly bought,
As idle sounds, of few or none are sought.
That there is nothing lighter than vain praise.
I know frail beauty 's like the purple flower,
To which one morn oft birth and death affords;
That love a jarring is of mind's accords,

Where sense and will bring under reason's power :-
Know what I list, this all cannot me move,
But that, alas! I both must write and love.

THE EVENING HOUR.

One of the many beautiful passages scattered in BYRON'S Don Juan: gems in a black ground, which it is forbidden to the pure and good to approach. We are therefore doing a service by removing them where they can be seen and admired, without danger of contaminating by their contexts.

THE feast was over, the slaves gone,

The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired;
The Arab lore and poet's song were done,
And every sound of revelry expired;

The lady and her lover, left alone,

The rosy flood of twilight's sky admired ;Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea,

That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee!