i This little impromptu arose from observing a sprig of the Sensitive Plant dead on a very feeling and affectionate bosom.

k "Every vegetable as well as the Sensitive Plant shrinks when wounded," says the Naturalist. But SENTIMENT, unwilling to relinquish the delicate attribute of its own sweet shrub, replies to Science, "It is true; but in other plants, even when wounded, the motion is too slow to be perceptible; while the vibration of the Sensitive Plant, even to the faintest touch, is as quick as it is visible."

And oh! how soothing is its pow'r

To smile away Care's sombre low'r!
This hour I love!

It follows last the feath❜ry train

That hovers round Time's rapid wain.

"Tis then I rove.

II.

'Tis when the day's last beam of light

Sleeps on the rude tow'r's mould'ring height,

With many an age's moss bedight,

The dreary home

Of some sad victim of despair,

Who from the world finds shelter there;

"Tis then I roam.

III.

'Tis when the west clouds faintly blush,

And his last vesper sings the thrush,

And soft mists veil gay nature's flush,

And not a ray

From the morn's cloud-embosom'd crest

Silvers the green wave's swelling breast;

'Tis then I stray.

IV.

'Tis the soft stilly dawn of night,

When many an elf and fairy sprite

Pursue the glow-worm's furtive light, Like me fonder

Of that soft, pale, mysterious beam

Which lures wild fancy's wizard dream,

While I wander.

V.

Day cannot claim this charming hour,

Nor night subdue it to its power,

Nor sunny smiles, nor gloomy low'r,

Does it betray:

But blandly soothing, sweetly wild,

Soft, silent, stilly, fragrant, mild,

It steals away.