description of the slovenly maid that answer. d to the call of the door knocker. We find that we have been betrayed by the foregoing observations, into a greater length than was originally intended. It was our desire to have communicated to the reader certain views with regard to forms of poetry, and more especially the dramatic, which have won very much upon our own respect; but as their illustration would occupy more space than the limits of an already long article will allow, we pause at once, to spare the frowns of an incensed editor, or the yawns of an already weary reader. HAL. THE HONEST WOOER. I WOOED my mistress with a love as true Since ne'er to Beauty had I bowed before: I did not tell her that her eyes were stars; Why should I wrong those peerless orbs of night? Why should my private wounds be brought to light? I did not prate of mine own lack of birth, Why should I scandalize mine own fair fame? I did not speak of her exalted worth, Hearts linked together needs must be the same. I did not boast what great things I would do, Since that I breathed of poesy no line. I simply whispered her, "Sweet maid, I love ;" C. H. H. THE SPIRIT OF THE ICE. WHITHER is wending the maiden alone, As it driveth the waves in silver foam, Till they sprinkle the cliffs with their salt sea spray? Why doth her voice with the mountain gale Mingle in high and solemn wail; And then burst forth with a stranger sound, Wild, yet sweet as the voice of the dove, But hush! she is still. No sound is heard, And the dashing waves of the restless sea; The night is cold, for Winter old, In his chilly mantle, doth earth enfold. He hath spread his white vesture over the plain, Till she cometh the bride of the spring-sun warm; On the cold, cold ground doth the maiden rest, Her dark hair falls with a careless grace, But hark! she raiseth her voice in song: "I have wandered far on this beautiful earth, I have seen bright flowers, Blossom, then wither and die; That my heart's bright dream Would so soon have all passed by. "Oh Spirit, that rideth in vesture of white, Who throwest o'er all A deadly pall, And robest earth for the tomb; Who flingest thy blight On all that was bright, And changest it all to gloom: "To thee, with a heart almost driven to madness, A maiden in sorrow doth plead; Oh stay and give heed to her story of sadness, Yet why should I tell, What thou knowest well, The anguish that burneth my breast? Give heed to my prayer, Thou Spirit of air, Oh give my worn spirit rest!" Then in louder voice she sung, By the charm of mightier power, That can break thine icy chain, And bid nature bloom again; By this Power, that thou, Fiend, dost fear, Why doth the maiden in terror start? But the white waves seem in their path to stay. Just now were dancing all about, The bright-eyed spirits of the sea, Gliding gracefully in and out, To the sound of the mermaid's melody. But now in terror they fly from the might Of the Spirit that cometh in this sad light. The Spirit is coming, the Spirit of dread,— The waters have frozen beneath his tread, He comes on the path where the pale moonbeam A diadem resteth on his head, Set around with jewels red Each of a frozen blood-drop made. The sceptre cold, That his hand doth hold, Is a human bone, that for years hath laid, The Spirit is near, the Spirit doth speak, As it waileth among the mountains. That drop from the heart's pure fountainsThat are pouring forth in her bosom of youth, The waters of love, the waters of truth? SPIRIT. Maiden of the tearful eye, Thou hast stopped me on my way. MAIDEN. Tell me, Spirit, tell me now, If the crown upon thy brow Gives thee power to still each thought If the sceptre in thy hand, Gives thee power to break each band That doth bind the heart to woe, If my heart no more may feel Human woe or human weal; If thou canst from anguish shield me, Spirit, to thy might I yield me. SPIRIT. Maiden, when thou art my slave, Never more shall Passion's wave Wake thy heart to human woe; The maiden paused-she paused not long, |