ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS. BY ALARIC A. WATTS. I. RELICS of love, and life's enchanted spring, Of hopes born, rainbow-like, of smiles and tears;With trembling hand do I unloose the string, Twined round the records of my youthful years. Yet why preserve memorials of a dream, Too bitter-sweet to breathe of aught but pain! III. The thoughts and feelings these sad relics bring Shall spells less hallowed hold them still in thrall? E IV. Can withered hopes that never came to flower, Match with affections long and dearly tried! Love, that has lived through many a stormy hour, Through good and ill,—and time and change defied! V. Perish each record that might wake a thought VI. Yet, ere we part for ever,-let me pay VII. What gentle words are flashing on my eye! VIII. How many a feeling, long-too long-represt, Its cherished radiance on these leaves hath cast! IX. And ye, pale violets, whose sweet breath hath driven X. Ye too must perish!—Wherefore now divide XI. A long farewell :-sweet flowers, sad scrolls, adieu! Yes, ye shall be companions to the last : So perish all that would revive anew The fruitless memories of the faded past! XII. But lo! the flames are curling swiftly 'round XIII. The Hindoo widow, in affection strong, Dies by her lord, and keeps her faith unbroken :— Thus perish all which to those wrecks belong, The living memory-with the lifeless token! ITALIAN GIRL'S HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. BY MRS. HEMANS. O sanctissima, O purissima, Mater amata intemerata Ora, ora pro nobis. Sicilian Mariner's Hymn. I. In the deep hour of dreams, Through the dark woods, and past the moaning sea, And by the starlight gleams, Mother of Sorrows! lo, I come to thee. II. Unto thy shrine I bear Night-blowing flowers, like my own heart to lie, All, all unfolded there, Beneath the meekness of thy pitying eye. III. For thou, that once didst move, In thy still beauty, through an earthly home, The fear of woman's soul;-to thee I come! IV. Many, and sad, and deep, Were the thoughts folded in thy silent breast; V. There is a wandering bark, Bearing one from me o'er the restless wave; Oh! let thy soft eye mark His course-be with him, Holiest, guide and save! VI. My soul is on that way; My thoughts are travellers o'er the waters dim Through the long weary day I walk, o'ershadowed by vain dreams of him. VII. Aid him, and me too, aid! Oh! 'tis not well, this earthly love's excess! On thy weak child is laid The burthen of too deep a tenderness. ; |