A PORTRAIT.

PALE, yet not sickly, is his cheek; his brow
Smooth and expanded, as a waveless lake;
His mild blue eye is not without its fire,
But 'tis a temper'd light, that tells of peace,
Like summer lightning on a tranquil eve.

His mouth, at rest, might tempt the sculptor's art,
And, tempting, baffle; but the painter's more,
When, variable as ocean's light and shade,
It gives the rapid movements of the mind.
Though I have learnt that many a tranquil brow
Expands its smoothness o'er a troubled soul,
Like snow on the volcano's summit spread,-
Yet smiles like his come only from the depth
Of bosoms hush'd in purity and peace,
As those soft dimples, which do only break,
Spontaneous, on the clearest, calmest springs.
A careless eye might pass him in a crowd,
A common eye might see no beauty there;
For no strong contrast of dark wreathing locks,
Or sunny cheek, or mark'd o'er-arching brow,

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR. T TILLIN

Attracts the gaze: yet he who once has gazed,
He knows not why, is drawn to look again,
And feels a nameless charm that wins upon him,
With something new, still every time he looks,
Till he accuses his dull, noteless eye,

That mark'd not all, it now beholds, before.
Aye, but the mind-oh! what a pale reflex
Is even that countenance of such a mind!

*

*

* * *

EVENING.

How sweet to tread the vernal wood
When night approaches with its train,
And the sweet calm of solitude
Diffuses wide its peaceful reign!

How sweet to linger in its shade,
And evening's sweet perfume inhale;
While Philomela's serenade

Is floating on the balmy gale!

side one tomb of pure white the brief inscription—~O -ining more was written there: Lore necessary to speak the deep reven mother for a dear daughter, or a beloved wife. On anoAdèle, si jeune.”

entence