—and by his halidome! he will carve out a station for himself to which these cringing hounds never dared to lift their eyes. I feel the victory at hand!" and he strode proudly to and fro under the uncontrollable excitement of the moment. What stirs a proud man more than the insults of inferiors!
At length, he paused and threw up the window, hoping that the cool night air might fan his fevered brow. Calmly and sweetly, the moon was flooding that solitary city with her silvery light, dimming with her unclouded brilliance the stars that gemmed the azure canopy of heaven. Not a sound broke on the air. The angel of peace and purity seemed to hover over the scene. The student gazed long at the quiet prospect, and as he gazed, his feelings grew calmer, and he mused with himself.
"What crime and innocence," he said, "what hope and despair, what poverty, sickness, and death throng in this mighty but now sleeping city! How many wretched beings lie on their fevered beds—how many famished families look to the sickly artizan for bread—how many widowed mothers are even now toiling at the morning lamp to earn a scanty subsistence for their starving little ones. Oh God! Who can tell the misery that lies hidden in the lanes and courts, ay, and in the palaces of this mighty town—and yet yon calm moon sails placidly on, as if all was joy, health, and long life beneath?"
As the student mused, a calmer mood came over him. Gradually, the lofty fire faded from his eye; his brow settled into its usual placid expression, and the storm of passion died away in his breast. Closing the window, he sought his couch with a melancholy smile. And thus, night after night, he toiled. But the end was near!
(TO BE CONCLUDED.)
___
TO A LADY
A SONG.
I love you, lady, yet I feel
My heart should not its love declare;
Then teach, oh! teach me to conceal
The ray of passion lingers there.
But tell me, can the streams that shed
Their sun-reflected tribute free,
Turn from their wanted course and wed
Their waters to an inland sea?
Go ask the leaping mountain rill.
To stay its flight and still its tone;
Or bid Vesuvius' fount to chill.
It's burning lava into stone.
As well as to ask the vestal moon
To quench her light in yonder sky,
For ladies, they'll obey as soon
As I can yield affection's tie. H. H. C.
THE ROSE
By D. Everett Rose
Loved daughter of the laughing May!
The light of all that's pure is thine.
The rosy beams that wake up the day,
Upon your cheeks, velvet shines.
Thy beauty paints the evening skies,
It mingles with the rainbow's dies,
In love's own light, its blushes speak.
on the ruby lip and vermeil cheek.
No wooing zephyrs ever stray'd
To whisper love or steal a kiss,
Or dancing Sunbeam ever play'd
Upon a sweeter flower than this.
The night fays o'er thy bosom strew
The sparkles of the nectar dew,
And on their shrine, the pearls have slept.
Like tears, the dying stars have wept.
Many pouting lips have flushed.
In rival beauty by your side;
Many a maiden's cheek has blushed.
In vain to match your crimson pride.
The pink may boast its varied hue,
The violet is azure blue.
The lily claimed the snow as its own;
But still, thou reign'st undimm'd alone.
Thou hast the tale of love express'd.
In words, the falt's tongue forbore.
And answ'ring from the heart confess'd,
What eye and cheek had told before.
Young hearts have whispered to your ears.
The secret of their hopes and fears:
When nestled in a gentle breast,
Thou had'st thy tender folds carest.
Ah! anxious hope long watch has kept,
Despairingly beneath your cover;
While a fond heart sigh'd and a bright eye wept
The absence of a faithless lover.
And many a vow of love is made,
And a fond heart pledged beneath your shade;
While friendly moonbeams light your bower,
And glide too soon into the stolen hour.
I love you, emblem of my youth!
Thou bring'st to mind fond memories;
When fancy wore the garb of truth,
And love made the earth a paradise.
But as those dreaming hours have fled,
Before the light-stern truth has shed,
So will your fleeting beauty fade.
And join the wreck that time has made.
Truth is to be sought only through slow and painful progress. Error is in its nature flippant and compendious; it hops with airy and fastidious levity over proofs and arguments and perches upon assertion, which it calls conclusion.
