A" sigh," that's just so faintly deep
As wakes the soul from out its sleep,

When lips we love, and cheeks we prize,
Come dimpling to our ravish'd eyes-
A" sigh," ye gods, conceiv'd like this,
Is cousin-german to a kiss.

We talk with fingers and with eyes,
Then pr'ythee say, why not with "sighs ?"

A" sigh" can sever Cupid's chain

A "sigh" can join its links again—
A "sigh" is woman's surest dart-
A " sigh's" the echo of the heart-

66

(A sigh," the which may blissful make-
A " sigh" can whisper it to break)—
A "sigh" in every land you'll find-
A "sigh's" the lightning of the mind-
A " sigh" has oft th' affections stole-
A "sigh's" a message from the soul-
And on a "sigh," with wings of light,
The spirit takes its heav'nward flight.

A " sigh," when lovers' bosoms meet,
Will tell for what the flutterers beat;

A " sigh's" a wish, or thought, tho' heardNot quite condens'd into a word;

A " sigh's" at least so blushes teach

A rosy substitute for speech;

In sooth, good reader, then, a "sigh"
Is-What? Why, Love's stenography!

WRITTEN THE MORNING AFTER WALTZING WITH AGNES.

"The many twinkling feet, so small and sylph-like,

Suggesting the more secret symmetry

Of the fair forms, which terminate so well."

"There is a language in the eye,

The cheek, the lip, nay

The foot speaks."

But yesternight I lovely Agnes met

At crowded ball, and by her side I sat;
Convers'd of trifles! till I dancing nam'd,
(For which my Agnes is so justly fam'd,)
When music breathing, we the couch forsook,
And quick our places 'midst the waltzers took.

O glowing language, to my pen now fly,

Bid nature's beauties with each other vie,

To paint correctly all her charms confess'd,
And show the joy with which my soul was bless'd.

As through the lab'rinth of this dance divine
We glide, our limbs each other's close entwine,
And like the tendril in its fond caress,

As mutual stay, my knee to her's I press;

While eyes commingle in soft, silent gaze,
As sweet precaution 'gainst the dizzy maze.

*

Tho' oft-told circles we enraptur'd wind,
Yet true to skill, her foot to mine I find;
And as each round with tremor we complete,
Our souls impassion'd urge our nimble feet

To rapid finish of the varied parts,
And suit alike our palpitating hearts.

My hands alternate rove around her waist,
As with her white arm is my shoulder grac'd
Which now again in graceful play is spread,
And high o'er arch'd above her beauteous head;
Whilst my fond duty is to swiftly bear

Her half-recumbent thro' the perfum'd air.

But as the waltz, by Terpsichore's high will,
Outvies all dances by its grace and skill,

So is my Agnes form'd by Heav'n to prove
The aptest pupil in this school of love.

* With reference to this matrimony of vision, I take upon myself to pronounce it a decided specific, or anti-vertigo-at least, I ever found there was a spell or charm in my partner's eye, that effectually precluded the giddiness so often complained of in waltzing.

THE REJECTED!

"Could'st thou, celestial beauty! view my heartView the dear image on that heart impress'd;

So like thyself-and unimpassion'd read

The indented motto-Love?"

"O, when the heart which hath so well
Its deep and lone devotion prov'd,
Is still-and tongue has ceas'd to tell
How fervently it lov'd--

Then, then, around thy soul shall cling
Fond memory's imagining."

.

OI have lov'd-yes, wildly lov'd,
As none e'er lov'd before;

Passion within my heart has dwelt,

And fed upon its core

Passion which now through every vein

Climbs to my hot and mad'ning brain.

I've lov'd, methinks, so strangely pure

So deeply, warmly, well,