And such is man; soon from his cell of clay ROGERS. THE BELLE OF THE BALL-AN EVERY- YEARS years ago-ere yet my dreams I saw her at the county ball There, when the sound of flute and fiddle Gave signal sweet in that old hall, Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Of all that set young hearts romancing, She was our queen, our rose, our star; And then she danced-oh, heaven! her dancing! Dark was her hair; her hand was white; Her eyes were full of liquid light; Shot right and left a score of arrows; I thought 't was Venus from her isle, And wonder'd where she left her sparrows. She talk'd of politics or prayers; Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets; Of danglers, or of dancing bears; Of battles, or the last new bonnets. By candle-light, at twelve o'clock, To me-it matter'd not a tittle; If those bright lips had quoted Locke, I might have thought they murmur'd Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal. She was the daughter of a dean, And lord-lieutenant of the county. But titles, and the three per cents, As Baron Rothschild for the muses. She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach, Young blossom in her boudoir fading: For hours and hours to blow the bellows. She kept an album, too, at home, Well fill'd with all an album's glories: Paintings of butterflies and Rome, Patterns for trimming, Persian stories; Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter; And autographs of Prince Leboo, And recipes for elder water. And she was flatter'd, worshipp'd, bored; Her sayings were extremely quoted. She smiled on many, just for fun- Her heart had thought of for a minute: In phrase which was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand; and, oh! How sweetly all her notes were folded! Our love was like most other loves- The usual vows, and then we parted. We parted-months and years roll'd by; Our meeting was all mirth and laughter; For, in my heart's most secret cell, ANON. SONG OF MARION'S MEN. The exploits of General Francis Marion, the famous partisan warrior of South Carolina, form an interesting portion of the annals of the American revolution. The British troops were so harassed by the irregular warfare which he kept up at the head of a few daring followers, that they sent an officer to remonstrate with him for not coming into the open field and fighting, to use their expression, "like a gentleman and a Christian." OUR band is few, but true and tried, The British soldier trembles As seamen know the sea. Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery, That little dread us near! And they who fly in terror, deem And hear the tramp of thousands Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil:" We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gather'd To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind Well knows the fair and friendly moon The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. Grave men there are by broad Santee, |