Must have their flow- and though the pride Let but one soft feeling fall Like moon-light on a dark cloud; giving With the thick rush of tears. L. E. L. Silence. IT is said that if a silken thread be tied around a perfectly moulded bell at the moment of sounding, the bell will burst asunder, and shiver into a thousand pieces. So it is when a heart of perfect and delicate harmony in itself, seeks to manifest its life among other hearts, the slightest revulsion is enough to destroy the expression forever. There is no * * * * * expression for perfect happiness but perfect silence. It is not human enough for language; and the fullest concord of harmonious sounds is, after all, only a sigh after the Infinite. No sound in the whole catalogue of earthly notes expresses unmixed joy but the laughter of a very young child, and we all know how that changes to tears in a moment. Yet if speech and sound are but the voice of longing, so after all is silence, rightly understood, only the voice of wailing. When will the Future come wherein the Present shall satisfy the soul? THE MAIDEN Aunt. Love. HE, who for love hath undergone Is happier, thousand fold than one A grace within his soul has reigned, Thank God for all that I have gained, MILNES. Pleasure. THAT delight which we do not pay with pain is ever worth seeking; every particular pleasure swells our account of happiness, and it is a false wisdom that pretends to despise pleasure. We might as well refuse to live, because we do not exist in the eternal and solid duration of time like the Supreme Being, as decline and despise pleasures because they are transcient. What belongs to us that is not so? All is succession; fleeting time bears all away. Our fancies mount the wing, and fly beforeour possessions vanish. Our wish obtained, desire goes on and leaves possession as a load behind. MRS. MONTAGUE. Spring. On the inexpressible, delightful spring air! enjoy it through the open window, sitting among the flowers. The sun penetrates me with new warmth; the birds twitter among the budding trees of the terrace; all is beautiful, wild and glorious. If there is a feeling upon earth, which is delightful, elevating, which calls forth tones of peace and joy, it is that which we experience after hours of pain and sickness, when we return again to life; and to a life in which only spring breezes, spring flowers meet us. How still is everything about us-how open to gladness, disposed for goodness! MISS BREMER. How very desolate that breast must be Whose only joyance is in memory. L. E. L. The Past. TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and stranged as in dark summer dawns The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; Dear as remembered kisses after death, TENNISON. |