I AM not old

I am not Old.

though years have cast

Their shadows on my way;

I am not old - though youth has passed
On rapid wings away.

For in my heart a fountain flows

And round it pleasant thoughts repose;
And sympathies and feelings high,
Spring like the stars on evening's sky.

I am not old

time may have set

"His signal on my brow,"

And some faint furrows there have met,
Which care may deepen now

Yet love, fond love, a chaplet weaves

Of fresh young buds and verdant leaves;

And still in fancy I can twine

Thoughts, sweet as flowers, that once were mine

PARK BENJAMIN.

Stanzas.

THE speakers here, are a dying girl and her lover. The ardent passion manifested by the youth suggests to the girl several images under which she supposes that he will delight to personify her after her death. The stanzas are in the form of a dialogue - the girl suggesting the particular images in succession, and the lover responding.

"Even as a flower?"

No, fairest; be not to me as a flower;

The uncertain sun calls forth its odorous breath; The sweetest perfume gives the speediest death"The sport and victim of a summer hour. Fairest, be not a flower! "

"Even as a star?"

"No, brightest; be not to me as a star ;—

'T is one of millions, and the hurrying cloud Oft wraps the glitt'ring splendor in its shroud; Morn pales its lustre, and it shines afar. Brightest, be not a star!"

"Even as a dove?"

"No purest; be not to me as a dove

The spoiler oft breaks in upon its rest,
Robbing the downy joys of its soft nest,
And plunging silence through its native grove.
Purest, be not a dove!"

"Even as a rock?"

"No, my most faithful; be not as a rock ;-
It mocks the embracing wave; or stands alone
In loveless gloom, in dreary wastes unknown,
Senseless alike to fortune's smile or shock.
Changeless, be not a rock!"

"Even as myself?"

"My soul's best idol, be but as thyself;
Brighter than star, fairer than flower,
Purer than dove, and in thy spirit's power
Steadier than rock!

Yes! be thyself, thyself only thyself!"

ECLECTIC MAGAZINE.

First Grief.

THERE is unspeakable pathos in the first great grief. When the sky is already streaked with clouds, a gathering and deepening of those clouds, may be felt to enhance, while it alters the beauty; but if it be stainless blue, the tiniest speck seems a defacement. There is an instinctive love of purity in man, whether it present itself to him in the shape of childhood's innocence or of childhood's happiness; in either case, he so shrinks from the thought of its first deterioration, as, in some moods, to deem death preferable to it,

THE MAIDEN AUNT.

Song.

By the clear silver tones of thy heavenly voice,
By the sparkling blue eyes of the maid of my

choice,

By the bright, sunny ringlets, were I on a throne, And thou what thou art, I should make thee my

own.

By the smile on thy lip by the bloom on thy cheek

By thy looks of affection-the words thou dost

speak

By the heart warm with love in that bosom of

snow,

I love thee much more than thou ever can'st know.

I love thee I love thee what can I say more, Than tell what I have told thee so often before; While others may court thee, may flatter, and praise,

Forget not our younger and happier days.

९९९९९

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

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