THE DECLARATION.

The lady sat within her bower,
Where trellissed vines hung o'er her,
With flashing eye and burning cheek,
Down knelt her fond adorer;
He took her soft white hand, and in
Her bright eye fondly gazing,
Sought for a look, to show that he
An equal flame was raising;
Yet still her eyes were turned away,
And as his heart waxed bolder,
And he devoured her lily hand,
The lady's look grew colder.
And then he swore by all the stars,
That in the sky were shining—
By all the verdant vines that o'er
Her gentle bower were twining—
By mountains, valleys, seas and streams,
And by the moon above her,
And everything therein that e'er
Sophi or saints discover—
He never could know peace again
On earth, till he had won her;
Yet still she answered not the look
Of love he cast upon her.
And then he swore, at her command,
To show his love, he would do
What never mortals did before,
And none but lovers could do,
That he would climb up to the moon,
Or swim the ocean over—
Would dine one day at Sandy Hook,
And sup next night at Dover;
Then jump from thence to London, and
Alight on St. Paul's steeple—
Then pull the Premier's nose, and make
O'Connell damn the people.
Or that he would put armour on,
And, like a knight of yore, he
Would fight with giants, castles scale,
And gain immortal glory.
Then go and build a kingdom up,
And be a mighty winner;
Bowstring the Sultan Mahmoud—and
His TURKEY eat for dinner.
Then follow Lander's dismal track,
And on the Niger's banks
An Empire of the Darkies found,
And merit Tappan's thanks!
If HARDER tasks she did demand,
He would reform the nation,
Make talent, honesty, and worth,
Essentials to high station—
Make politicians tell the truth,
Give consciences to brokers,
And put upon the temperance list
An army of old soakers—
Make lawyers "keep the people's peace,"
Physicians kill them CHEAPER—
A cloud was on the lady's brow,
Which, as he spoke, grew deeper.
He swore she had the brightest eyes,
That ever look'd on mortal;
And that their light was like the rays
That stream from Heaven's own portal;
That by her cheek, the opening rose
Would look but dim and faded;
And darker than the raven's wing,
The hair her fair brow shaded;
That Venus by her side would look
A common country dowdy;—
The lady blushed and smiled, and then
Her brow again grew cloudy.
Up sprung the lover then, and said,
"Will you be Mrs. Popkins—
Miss Julia Jane Amelia Ann
Matilda Polly Hopkins?
I have a house four stories high—
We'll live in splendid style, and
A handsome countryseat upon
Lake George's sweetest island—
Ten thousand eagles in the mint,
Bankshares, untold, percented"—
The lady bent her cheek to his,
Her gentle heart relented!

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

FROM MY SCRAP BOOK.

You ask me B——ty, why I mourn,
Yet dry'st the tearful eye?
You ask me why I look with scorn,
And check the heaving sigh?
Time was, when I could carol forth,
To tune of lively glee;
But dark despair has left no hope—
Nor sigh—nor tear—for me.
Like me—perchance some wayward sprite,
Might dazzling lead astray;
Then leave you on the giddy height,
To perish far away:
Take heed while yet you have the choice,
Avoid the Syren's way;
Nor listen to the artful voice,
Which calls—but to betray;
For sigh from him that is deceived,
Or tear from eye that once believed,
Is sought in vain—tho' fill'd with grief,
Nor sigh nor tear can bring relief;
'Tis time alone can steel the heart,
And foil the Syren's pointed dart.

POWHATAN.

Petersburg, Dec. 19, 1834.