Then gathering thus her golden hair, She would have gone, when he said, "Stay, love's form, is she not fair See my And lovely as a morn of May?" She took the jewelled box; she looked Or like a sunbeam seen through dew. Nigh him, and with a soft low voice, Said, "If the mirror tells me true, I know her, and approve thy choice." Such is the story told by one Excelling in the natural way Of saying simple things, whom none Love Nature in her meek undress. What Art's embodied thoughts express. THE SORROWS OF HOPE. BY GEORGE DARLEY, ESQ. "ARRAY! array the bridal feast! He had as near relations men!" So spake her Cousins. Months flew past, I left my fevered couch at last : A brother's voice in laughter broke Close at my elbow as I spoke: 'Twas Simon, with as sly a grin As drunken Death might cast on Sin: Another face as blear, but older, Looked with a death-scowl o'er his shoulder, My brother Roland's; black as night, "Six months ago, our Cousin wed, It had not withered thus my youth! My raven locks were turned to gray! The tales of beauty that we loved, The silent, dim, secluded vale, Where love had breathed his ardent tale, |