Blowers.

STOOD within a garden fair,
Rose-tinted with the evening light,
With flowers breathing round me.

I stood alone and dreaming there

Of all that makes our life so bright,
The spells of fancy bound me.

I saw each flower-bloom unfold,
And from the star-lit depths of each
A spirit form uncover:

Some silver-pale, some bright as gold
And spangled as the jewelled beach

That Eastern seas sweep over.

And first of all the fairy band,
The Lily, Rose, and Jessamine,

The fairest shapes of beauty

They stood together hand in hand,
A Trinity, with Love for queen,

Of Knowledge, Love, and Duty.

The Lily robed in pomp of white,
The creeping Jess'mine pale and sweet,

The Rose with blushes shining

Each with a crown of dewdrops bright,
Gemmed with their own true emblems meet,
Their tresses intertwining.

Ye lovely forms of perfect grace!

When all are good who can be best?
When all are fair who fairest?

Oh! let me ever see each face,

In its own matchless beauty drest,—

Of all rare joys the rarest.

META.

SAIR-THRONED, Zeus-born, deathless Aphrodite,

Weaver of wiles, O hear thy suppliant's prayer, Spare me, O spare me, gracious Queen and mighty, Sorrow and care!

Nay, if before, yet now to me the rather
Haste as when, hearing from afar my cry,
Thou from the golden palace of thy Father

Sped'st through the sky.

Yoked stood thy car, and lovely sparrows drew thee
O'er the dark earth as swift as they were fair,
Fluttering ceaseless swept their pinions through the

Echoing air.

Swiftly they came: you smiling, O most blessed!
Smiling with eyes immortal, question made-
Why had I called thee? by what grief oppressed
Sought I thine aid?

What was my soul's deep longing? what the prayer Breathed forth so wildly? "Whom shall Peitho move "Deaf to thy pleading, Sappho? What betrayer "Mocks thy fond love?

"Flieth he now? ere long shall he pursue thee. "Scorns he thy gifts? yet shall he give in turn. "Him that now slights thee, forced in turn to woo thee, "Soon shalt thou spurn."

Hasten, O hasten hither, then! and send me
Respite from bitter sorrows! all my will
Grant me in trouble let thine aid defend me !
Be with me still!

M.

Penzance.

AVOURED of Nature, bright child of the Ocean,
Laved by the many-hued wavelets; at rest,
Sweetly reposing and rocked by the motion,
The ebb and the flow of the breast,
The heaving bosom of water,

Swaying and dimpling and gleaming,

Like to a mother who smiles on her daughter,
In her arms calmly dreaming!

Genial thy climate, thy meadowlands beaming-
Like an oasis engirt by the moor-

Clothed with verdure, with harvests all teeming,
Home of the sickly and Bread of the poor!