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!-
O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary mortal round;
And sage experience bids me this declare-
"If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,

'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,
Bright and glad yon golden tide;
Hark! a thousand choral voices

From old Ocean rolling wide:

Every cavern, fountain, hill,

To Love and Hope are sacred still.

There the monarch oak-tree wantons
In his pride of pomp and power;
There the wild-rose, there the woodbine
Gaily flaunt their summer hour:
There sweet Nature's choristers
Deftly pour harmonious airs.

When the wild-birds caroll'd highest,
Piercing heaven's abysm clear-

Ere the spring-flowers clos'd their eyelids,
Pillow'd on their forest bier,

Pac'd two lovers through the greenwoodsSweet Kirkleatham's solitudes.

Who can picture how they linger'd
In each pleasant, gay alcove?
Words of passion, sighs of rapture-
All the ecstacy of love?

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
From the bowers of Paradise!

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-
Dreamer of the woodlands he?

Hill-side shepherd? joyous ploughman?
Pilgrim o'er the lonely sea?

Little recks it,-LOVE was his,
Youth, and Hope, and Happiness!

From the fierce, the surging billow,
From the thunderbolts of war,

Came he forth to see his true-love-
From the gory fields afar?
Haply, this the Farewell token

Of a fond heart well-nigh broken!

Spring pour'd forth her virgin glories,
Verdant shade, and sunny hue,

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,
Never breath'd a holier vow;
Nature sang their hymeneal

Kiss'd with nectar-lips each brow;

Love protected-virtuous love

Such as seraphs feel above.

Now, alas, the grove is vanish'd,
All the verdant boughs are dead,
Ceas'd the wild-birds joyous music
Angel-strains divinely wed:
Now, no more the tuneful breeze
Murmurs Nature's minstrelsies.

Now, no more the Evening voices
Echo where that maiden stood-
Sounds of waters, hymnings holy,
(Guests of woodland solitude-)
All are gone the very tree--
Tablet of their memory!