HY M N.

Ar morn—at noon-at twilight dim-
Maria ! thou hast heard my hymn !
In joy and woe—in good and ill-
Mother of God, be with me still !
When the hours flew brightly by,
And not a cloud obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my

Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine !

A VALENTINE.

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,

Brightly expressive as the twins of Læda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies

Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Search narrowly the lines !—they hold a treasure

Divine-a talisman-an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the mea

sure

The words—the syllables ! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labour !

And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,

If one could merely comprehend the plot.

Enwritten

upon

the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing

Of poets, by poets--as the name is a poet's, too. Its letters, although naturally lying

Like the knight Pinto-Mendez FerdinandoStill form a synonym for Truth.–Cease trying ! You will not read the riddle, though you do the

best you can do.

[To translate the address, read the first letter of the first line in connection with the second letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line, the fourth of the fourth, and so on to the end. The name will thus appear.]

THE COLISEUM:

TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation left to Time
By buried centuries of pomp and power !
At length—at length-after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie)
I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
My very soul thy grandeur, gloom and glory!

Vastness ! and Age ! and Memories of Eld ! Silence! and Desolation ! and dim Night !

I feel ye now-I feel ye in your strength-
O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane !
O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
Ever drew down from out the quiet stars !

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls !
Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle :
Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
Lit by the wan light of the hornèd moon,
The swift and silent lizard of the stones !

But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades-
These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened

shafts-
These vague entablatures—this crumbling frieze-
These shattered cornices—this wreck—this ruin-
These stones—alas ! these gray stones—are they all-