Thus, her foot upon the new-mown grass-bareheaded— with the flowings

Of the virginal white vesture, gather'd closely to her throat;

With the golden ringlets in her neck, just quicken'd by her

going,

And appearing to breathe sun for air, and doubting if to float,

With a branch of dewy maple, which her right hand held above her,

And which trembled a green shadow in betwixt her and the skies,

As she turn'd her face in going, thus, she drew me on to love her,

And to study the deep meaning of the smile hid in her eyes.

For her eyes alone smiled constantly: her lips had serious sweetness,

And her front was calm—the dimple rarely rippled on her cheek:

But her deep blue eyes smiled constantly, as if they had by fitness

Won the secret of a happy dream she did not care to speak.

ULALUME.

A wild dreamy composition of EDGAR A. POE.

THE skies they were ashen and sober;

The leaves they were crisped and sere—
The leaves they were withering and sere;

It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immortal year;

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roam'd with my soul—
Of cypress, with Psyche, my soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll-
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole-
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere-
Our memories were treacherous and sere--
For we knew not the month was October,
And we mark'd not the night of the year!
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber-
(Though once we had journey'd down here)—
Remember'd not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent,
And star-dials pointed to morn-
As the star-dials hinted of morn—
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn-
Astarte's bediamonded crescent

Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said " She is warmer than Dian:
She rolls through an ether of sighs—
She revels in a region of sighs:

She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, were the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to the skies—
To the Lethean peace of the skies-
Come up, in despite of the Lion,

To shine on us with her bright eyes-
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,

Said "Sadly this star I mistrust— Her pallor I strangely mistrust:— Oh, hasten!-oh, let us not linger!

Oh, fly!-let us fly!-for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her

Wings till they trail'd in the dust-
In agony sobb'd, letting sink her

Plumes till they trail'd in the dust-
Till they sorrowfully trail'd in the dust.

I replied "This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sybilic splendour is beaming

With hope and in beauty to-night-
See!-it flickers up the sky through the night;
Ah! we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright-

We safely may trust to a gleaming

That cannot but guide us aright,

Since it flickers up to heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche, and kiss'd her;
And tempted her out of her gloom-
And conquer'd her scruples and gloom-

And we pass'd to the end of the vista:

But were stopp'd by the door of a tomb-
By the door of a legended tomb;

And I said "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied" Ulalume-Ulalume-
"T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! ”

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober,

As the leaves that were crisped and sereAs the leaves that were withering and sere; And I cried-"It was surely October

On this very night of last year

That I journey'd-I journey'd down here--
That I brought a dead burden down here-
On this night of all nights in the year!
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber-
This misty mid region of Weir-

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."

ΤΟ

By Mr. S. H. BRADBURY, a young writer of great promise.

I WALK'D with thee one wealthy summer's night,
In groves bedeck'd with flowers;

Our cheek embathed in the moon's pale light,
Falling in beamy showers.

There was a luxury in thy silken hair,

When rippling o'er thy cheek

In radiant waves; thine eyes threw light so fair,— I felt too great to speak.

My soul danced high in bliss-a splendid swoon-
A brilliant rapture swept

High up my heart, clear as the silent moon;
And stars their splendours wept.

I heard the beatings of thy heart, and felt;
Cold dewdrops chill'd thy breast;

And saw the distant hills of white clouds melt
Far down the star-paved west.

The azure gulf of heaven was fill'd with stars,
The glittering fruit of God;

The mellow'd moonbeams fell like golden bars,
Gilding earth's dew-bathed sod.

I saw thy languaged eyes were ripe with charms,
A summer burst of love;

And close insphered in thy pale round arms,
I dream'd I shone above.

SHADOW AND SUBSTANCE.

A shade of Neo-Platonic mystery veils the subtle imaginations conveyed in the following stanzas, which we extract from a late number of The New York Tribune.

A SIGH that follow'd not a look to heaven,

On lonely winds through the mid ether toss'd-
Some spirit yet unshriven,

Mourn'd its ideal lost.

"All vanish'd from that purple mountain-top-
All faded from the still, gray ocean-shore-
No soft, slow dews, shall drop

From thy white eyelids more.

"Gone from the solitary arch of night,
Gone from the all-mysterious heights of dawn;
From eve's pale, saffron light,

From noon's clear fervours gone.

"Forever parted from my sacred dream,
No bending glory far, far up may burn.
No life reviving gleam,

No orbit of return!

"Ah miserable! what shall hide thee now?

What depths of darkness cover thy despair?
Take ashes on thy brow-

Dust for thy garment wear.

"All lost, all shivering, all desolate

Struck to the soul with most immortal woe,

Thou livest all too late

Take up thy staff and go!"

Far thrilling, lingering, through the mountain glades,
I heard an awful, tender voice arise,

That once, in thickest shades,

Trembled through Paradise.

"Blind, but beloved! shall thy dead arise!

Did ever such ethereal essence die?

Out of the dust arise,

Thine agony deny!