which eminently qualify him for public station, his literary taste and habits have, in spite of the strenuous solicitations of his friends, led him to prefer the retirement of private life. This, however, does not prevent his taking an active interest in all questions of public good; and the city of New York is greatly indebted to his vigorous aid for many of her most beautiful and permanent improvements.

We can not close this sketch without adverting to the following incident, which occurred in the British House of Commons:—

"Mr. Cagley, a member from Yorkshire," says the "London Times," "Concluded a long speech in favor of protection, by quoting the ballad of 'Woodman, spare that tree' (which was received with applause of the whole house), the 'tree' according to Mr. Cagley, being the 'Constitution,' and Sir Robert Peel the 'woodman,' about to cut it down."

What poet could desire a more gratifying compliment to his genius?

Poems and Ballads.

Poems.

The Deserted Bride. [See Notes]

Suggested by a scene in the play of the hunchback.

Inscribed to James Sheridan Knowles.

"Love me!—No.—He never loved me!"
 Else he'd sooner die than stain
One so fond as he has proved me
 With the hollow world's disdain.
False one, go—my doom is spoken,
And the spell that bound me broken.

Wed him!—Never.—He has lost me!—
 Tears!—Well, let them flow!—His bride?
No.—The struggle life may cost me!
 But he'll find that I have pride!
Love is not an idle flower,
Blooms and dies the self-same hour.

Title, land, and broad dominion,
 With himself to me he gave;
Stooped to earth his spirit's pinion,
 And became my willing slave!
Knelt and prayed until he won me—
Looks he coldly upon me?

Ingrate!—Never sure was maiden
 Deeply wronged as I. With grief
My true breast is overladen—
 Tears afford me no relief—
Every nerve is strained and aching,
And my very heart is breaking!

Love I him?—Thus scorned and slighted—
 Thrown, like worthless weed, apart—
Hopes and feelings seared and blighted—
 Love him?—Yes, with all my heart!
With a passion superhuman—
Constancy, "thy name is woman."

Love, nor time, nor mood, can fashion—
 Love?—Idolatry's the word
To speak the broadest, deepest passion,
 Ever woman's heart hath stirred!
Vain to still the mind's desires,
Which consume like hidden fires!

Wrecked and wretched, lost and lonely,
 Crushed by grief's oppressive weight
With a prayer for Clifford only,
 I resign me to my fate.
Chains that bind the soul I've proven
Strong as they were iron woven.

Deep the wo that fast is sending
 From my cheek its healthful bloom;
Sad my thoughts as willows bending
 O'er the borders of the tomb!
Without Clifford, not a blessing
In the world is worth possessing.

Wealth!—a straw within the balance
 Opposed to love, 'twill strike the beam:
Kindred, friendship, beauty, talents?—
 All to love as nothing seem;
Weigh love against all else together,
And solid gold against a feather.

Hope is flown—away disguises
 Naught but death relief can give—
For the love he little prizes
 Can not cease, and Julia live!
Soon my thread of life will sever—
Clifford, fare thee well—for ever!

The Main-Truck; Or, A Leap for Life

A Nautical Ballad.

[Founded upon a well-known tale from the pen of the late William
Leggett, Esq.]

Old Ironsides at anchor lay,
 In the harbor of Mahon;
A dead calm rested on the bay—
 The waves to sleep had gone;
When little Jack, the captain's son,
 With gallant hardihood,
Climbed shroud and spar—and then upon
 The main-truck rose and stood!

A shudder ran through every vein—
 All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
 Between the sea and sky!
No hold had he above—below,
 Alone he stood in air!
At that far height none dared to go—
 No aid could reach him there.

We gazed—but not a man could speak!—
 With horror all aghast
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
 We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
 And of a lurid hue,
As, riveted unto the spot,
 Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck—He gasped,
 "O, God, Thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
 And aimed it at his son!
"Jump far out, boy! into the wave!
 Jump, or I fire!" he said:
"That only chance your life can save!
 Jump—jump, boy!"—He obeyed.

He sank—he rose—he lived—he moved—
 He for the ship struck out!
On board we hailed the lad beloved
 With many a manly shout.
His father drew, in silent joy,
 Those wet arms round his neck,
Then folded to his heart the boy
 And fainted on the deck!

Poetry.

To me the world's an open book
 Of sweet and pleasant poetry;
I read it in the running brook
 That sings its way toward the sea.
It whispers in the leaves of trees,
 The swelling grain, the waving grass,
And in the cool, fresh evening breeze
 That crisps the wavelets as they pass.

The flowers below, the stars above,
 In all their bloom and brightness given,
Are, like the attributes of love,
 The poetry of earth and heaven.
Thus Nature's volume, read aright,
 Attunes the soul to minstrelsy,
Tinging life's clouds with rosy light,
 And all the world with poetry.

The Croton Ode. [See Notes]

Written at the request of the corporation of the city of New York.

Gushing from this living fountain,
 Music pours a falling strain,
As the goddess of the mountain
 Comes with all her sparkling train.
From her grotto-springs advancing,
 Glittering in her feathery spray,
Woodland fays beside her dancing,
 She pursues her winding way.

Gently o'er the rippling water,
 In her coral-shallop bright,
Glides the rock-king's dove-eyed daughter,
 Decked in robes of virgin white.
Nymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling,
 Urge her bark with pearly hand,
Merrily the sylph beguiling
 From the nooks of fairy-land.

Swimming on the snow-curled billow,
 See the river-spirits fair
Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow,
 With the foam-beads in their hair.
Thus attended, hither wending,
 Floats the lovely oread now,
Eden's arch of promise bending
 Over her translucent brow.

Hail the wanderer from a far land!
 Bind her flowing tresses up!
Crown her with a fadeless garland,
 And with crystal brim the cup.