Yes, she a mournful devotee,
From scenes of busy strife shall flee;
To kneel beneath that cherish’d shrine,
Whose every offering is thine.

Oh! sometimes in the lonely hour,
My heart shall own a deeper power,
And tears shall tell, upon my cheek,
The grief that words could never speak.

BLUE-EYED ELLA.

Oh blue-eyed Ella’s face is fair,
And beautiful her braided hair,
As fair the feelings that do speak
Upon her pure and placid cheek.

Oh! blue-eyed Ella’s heart is kind
With warm desires by Heav’n refin’d;
Amid this world of crime and ill,
She walks serene and sinless still.

Oh! blue-eyed Ella! keep for me,
A thought from scorn and coldness free;
I fain would ask, I fain would find
A memory in so blest a mind.

ACROSTIC.

Far hath beauteous Fanny flown,
  And sad Nature’s drooping eye,
Now declares her pleasure gone,
  Newly weeping from the sky. 
Yet, when she shall seek again,
  Mildest maid! these haunts she loved,
In that hour, will Nature’s pain,
  (Caus’d by her) be all remov’d. 
Here sad Nature shall regain
  Increase of the joy she proved,
Ere you fled the flowery plain.

TO THE MUSE.  L’ENVOI.

Dear maid, with whom I, happy, wander’d back,
  To roam o’er that now sacred, hallow’d ground,
Where Smith who trod old ocean’s stormy track,
  The noble state of chivalry did found.

Delightful hours thou mad’st them all, when I
  Went musing there with thee, my spirit guide,
I saw the chieftain with his eagle eye,
  And all his val’rous comrades, by his side.

I saw the doubtful scene; the hard assay,
  The daring crown’d with victory at last;
I saw the ancient forest fall away,
  I saw the little empire spreading fast.

And, on through other realms in charmed life,
  I follow’d, by thy silver accents led,
So sweet, the summer air with bliss seem’d rife,
  And harping angels hover’d o’er my head.

But yet—­farewell! with sadden’d, sinking heart,
  I turn from all the joys I late have known,
Where from the rushing crowd I oft shall start,
  To find myself dejected and alone.

Yet, sometimes thou return, and with those eyes
  Bright as an angel’s, look on me again,
So I shall feel the wonted raptures rise,
  And I shall lose the deaden’d sense of pain!

J.W.  RANDOLPH,

121 Main street, Richmond, Va.

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