They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope),
And are far up in Heaven-the stars I kneel to
In the sad, silent watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still-two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

A VALENTINE.

FOR her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,.

Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines !—they hold a treasure
Divine-a talisman-an amulet

That must be worn at heart. Search well the mea

sure

The words the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor!
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,

If one could merely comprehend the plot.

[To discover the names in this and the following poem, read the first letter of the first line in connection with the second letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line, the fourth of the fourth, and so on to the end. It has not been thought necessary to retain the American spelling, Læda, for Leda.]

Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus

Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets by poets-as the name is a poet's too.
Its letters, although naturally lying

-Mendez Ferdinando

Like the knight Pinto

Still form a synonym for Truth-Cease trying!

You will not read the riddle, though you do the

best you can do.

AN ENIGMA.

"SELDOM we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnetTrash of all trash!—how can a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff— Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff

Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it." And, veritably, Sol is right enough.

The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles-ephemeral and so transparent—

But this is, now-you may depend upon itStable, opaque, immortal-all by dint

Of the dear names that lie concealed within't.

ΤΟ

Nor long ago, the writer of these lines,

In the mad pride of intellectuality,

Maintained "the power of words "-denied that ever

A thought arose within the human brain

Beyond the utterance of the human tongue :
And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words-two foreign soft dissyllables—
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,”-
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions

Than even the seraph harper, Israfel,

(Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures"), Could hope to utter. And I my spells are broken. pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.

The