For there are spirits of heavenly birth,

Who, for love, leave their blissful station!”-
And, in radiant light, before me he stood,
And sweet were his coveted kisses ;-
And ne'er was a maiden's soul so wooed,
Or steeped in such balmy blisses!

He left the bright bowers of Paradise,

And its fragrance he breathed around me ;-
And its splendour still shone in his glowing eyes,
As in softest embraces he bound me !-

But hark! 'tis the hour!-I come to thee, love!
Oh! had I, too, thy wings of beauty,

How swift through the mountain airs would I move,
To yield to soft passion her duty!

THE LOVER ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

FROM THE GERMAN.

I LOOKED upon the battle plain,

I saw the silent hero lie,—

I saw the life-blood's deepest stain
Darken the light of chivalry!

Though cleft the brow-the bosom gored,
Still bore his arm the dinted shield;
Still grasped his hand the broken sword,
Shedding a light around the field.

He died-as warriors love to die-
In victory's proud and burning clasp ;
And, from that red throne, sprung on high,
Smiling on death's ensanguined grasp !

-I saw the lover wandering by,

With wan cold cheek and nerveless air,-
He pressed his heart,-I heard him sigh,

-Oh! what wild thoughts were gathering there'

The dreamy past had lit his brow,
With the soft light of love's sweet bliss ;-
Then came the dread awakening now,
And scared him with her withering kiss!

I saw him start at one loved name,-
I marked his thickly panting breath,—
-Rather than live that life of shame,
Hail, battle field!—hail, glorious death!

TO AN INFANT.

THOU wak'st from happy sleep, to play,
With bounding heart, my boy!
Before thee lies a long, bright day
Of summer and of joy!

Thou hast no heavy thought or dream,

To cloud thy fearless eye;—

Long be it thus !-life's early stream
Should still reflect the sky!

Yet,-ere the cares of earth lie dim,
On thy young spirit's wings,-
Now, in thy morn, forget not Him
From whom each pure thought springs!

So, in thy onward vale of tears,

Where'er thy path may be,

When strength hath bowed to evil years,— He will remember thee!

F. H.

FORGIVENESS.

A TALE.

THE night was dark and tempestuous :-heavy gusts of wind shook the abbey walls, and resounded, in deep murmurs, along the cloisters;-while the moon, occasionally breaking through the thick clouds which enveloped her, cast an uncertain and awful light over the surrounding scenery.

The monk, Pierre, had lain down to rest, but sleep fled from his eyes; and a broken slumber, which neither absorbed sense nor yielded repose, alone answered his solicitations. The groans of the distressed seemed to mingle with the sighing of the blast; and he frequently started from his couch, under the impression that he heard the well-known signal of his trusty dog, Fidele. In this manner he spent the hours, till the heavy bell of St. Gothard announced that midnight had passed. The storm was, in some degree, abated; and the beams of the moon were less interrupted. Pierre, however, no longer endeavoured to sleep. He fixed his eyes upon the bright luminary, which now shone full through the