IANTHE.

A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid,
Woman!

It is but dust thou look'st upon.

MRS. HEMANS.

It was a rural spot beside a stream,

Kindled to beauty by the rosy beam

Of the declining sun. Fresh flowers were there, Th' anemone and rose, and lily fair,

Imparting softness to each rugged bough,

As woman's smile unto man's rougher brow;
And pensively and slow the weeping willows
Waved their dark tresses o'er the gliding billows;
The warbling songsters flitted to and fro,
Delighted with their summer plumage gay;

Sad Philomela poured forth soft and low

Her plaintive requiem to departing day;

While rustling grove, and hill, and vale, and lea, Were rife with nature's breezy minstrelsy.

And there, unheeding aught of this blithe glee,

Or nightingale's ethereal melody,

Upon the bank the fair IANTHE sate,
In silent tears, alone and desolate.

Her languid eyes fixed on the limpid tide,
That by her tiny feet did noiseless glide,
As life, away. Her soft cheek on her hand,
Her sable ringlets straying from their band
In glossy clusters o'er her neck of snow,
And waving round her pale Madonna brow.

He whom she loved too fond-too trustingly,
For woman's happiness, had sworn to be
Upon that spot at setting of the sun,
To wed her ere another day begun ;

And hope, beguiling still well-founded fear,
Led her to meet her faithless EDMUND here.

Bright stars are glittering in the midnight sky,
The moon looks from her silvery throne on high,

And yet the truant lover is not there

To call her from the stupor of despair.

Pale as a marble statue still she sate,

His coming uncomplainingly to wait.

Long hours had passed since that young form had stirred,

Or from those ashy lips one sob was heard: The last faint accents she had uttered clear, Were for her EDMUND words of fervent prayer.

At length, when night was far upon the wane,
From festal halls and Beauty's smiling train,
Like one on whom affection had no claim,
Unto the spot the heedless lover came;

For well he knew that gentle, trusting heart
Would wait him till the morning star depart.
And as he nearer came, his sight grew dim,
Cold tremors shook convulsively each limb,-
He called aloud, but there was no reply—
Ah! what recks she of life's worst misery,
And faithless man's neglect-fate's utmost woes?
Her sleep is calm as is a child's repose,
Upon its mother's breast at eventide :

He took the cold hand hanging by his side,

Then dropped it quickly as a viper—“ Dead!

Oh,
He shrieked, and from the spot a maniac fled.

God! pour not thy vengeance on my head!"