To hearts that have so felt, the well-known lines of Scotland's immortal poet, may strike a chord in unison: O happy love!-where love like this is found!- 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." CLEVELAND SKETCHES. THE LOVERS. "In the Hospital endowed by an Ancestor of Sir Charles Turner at Kirkleatham, amongst other natural and artificial curiosities, is a very singular tree. It had been cut down in Kirkleatham Park, but upon its being split by the woodman's wedge, the heart of the tree turned out round and entire, the outward part which enclosed it, being about the thickness of four inches. Round the inner bole, or heart, which is about a foot in diameter, are several letters carved in a rude and seemingly irregular manner; but upon a clear observation are found to wind in a spiral form, and the following couplet is plainly legible :— THIS TREE LONGTIME WITNESS BEAR TWO TRUE LOVERS DID WALK HERE.' Graves' Cleveland. Pleasant are thy vales, Kirkleatham, From old Ocean rolling wide: Every cavern, fountain, hill, To Love and Hope are sacred still. There the monarch oak-tree wantons When the wild-birds caroll'd highest, Ere the spring-flowers clos'd their eyelids, Pac'd two lovers through the greenwoodsSweet Kirkleatham's solitudes. Who can picture how they linger'd Who evoke a semblance fair Of that young devoted pair! Dreams of Venus, of Adonis, Dian and Endymion bright, (When the world was fresh and joyous) Dazzle with poetic light; Yea, a glory fills mine eyes Young and fair,-(O, never doubt it!) Eyes that mock'd the azure deeps; Neck of snow, as May-flowers fragrant, Tresses bright as evening streaks: Such wert thou beloved maidHeaven's whole Treasury display'd! Who the youth, -some rustic Poet- Hill-side shepherd? joyous ploughman? Little recks it,-LOVE was his, From the fierce, the surging billow, Came he forth to see his true-love- Of a fond heart well-nigh broken! Spring pour'd forth her virgin glories, Whilst from every secret covert Rose the blackbird's song—as now And each mellow distant wave -- Chim'd a dirge o'er memory's grave. 'Twere a tale too oft repeated, How that maiden's heart beat high; When the tender scroll was sculptur'd What entrancements fill'd her eye"THIS TREE, LONGTIME WITNESS BEAR Two TRUE LOVERS DID WALK HERE." Heaven was witness of their bridal, Kiss'd with nectar-lips each brow; Love protected-virtuous love Such as seraphs feel above. Now, alas, the grove is vanish'd, Now, no more the Evening voices |