"And when the stars were breathing out
Their holy light to earth,
And diamonding the glad blue sky
For the young moon's queenly birth,
I've gazed upon some lovely one,
And thought that it might be
A glorious home in the afterworld,
In which to live with thee."

And this at page 82.

"The air is like a tideless sea
Of pure and silvery light,
And the waters glance transparently,
Illumed by the queen of night.
The crested waves as they dash on high,
And dissolve in pearly beads,
Appear as a carpet spread gaudily,
Where the giant sea-god treads."

There is much, too, in the following lines, which comes over the senses "like the sweet south."

"Evening is stealing with her nectared breath,
Slowly and calmly down to kiss each flower
That pouteth in rich beauty from beneath
Its emerald colored guardians—the bright leaves—
('Tis strange what solace brings that magic hour
To every heart that hopes, or loves, or grieves—
It is the fitting time for fervent prayer,
Which rises holily on kindred air—
For then the air is holy—'tis the time
For love—the only time to gaze and die
Beneath the lustre of a diamond eye;
Yet strange to tell, it is the hour for crime!)
In golden majesty the glorious sun,
With light too pure for eye to gaze upon,
Is sinking slowly in the gorgeous west—
A monarch going proudly to his rest.—
He's gone, and mellow twilight creeps along
As gently as the cadence of a song,—
Twilight, to whom each poet in his day,
Hath breathed melodious and impassioned lay,
While o'er his soul thy witchery was stealing,
As sweetly as the whispered tones of feeling.
Evening—'tis then the o'er fraught heart doth pour
Its wealth of pious incense at the shrine
Of deity—the spirit then may soar
Into those regions where the angels twine
Wreaths for the glorious of our earthly race;—
'Tis then that we can see, and feel, and trace
His glory in the realms of starry space!"

We were pleased with the lines to ——, commencing thus:

"Memory! Memory!—'tis like the talisman
We read of in the page of Eastern story,
That magi used the inmost soul to scan
Of friends or foes; or oft mayhap to call
From his bright crystal, gold, or diamond hall,
Some brother in his supernatural glory—
The talisman of feeling, that doth bring
Back on the heart the deeds of other days,
With all their dark or glorious coloring—
The wizard of the soul, whose wand can raise
The disembodied spirits of the dead
Palpable as it were to touch;—impress
The face of such as long ago have fled
Into their state of holy blessedness,
Upon the mind."

The poem, with which the volume opens, "To My Country," contains many brilliant passages;—and throughout the work, the reader will linger at almost every page to dwell upon something which must please his fancy. Indeed the extracts that we intended to have made have so multiplied upon our hands, that we have not now space to give place to them all. We trust, however, that what we have given will suffice not only to show that our own opinions are correct, but to bring the public, and especially the Virginia public, better acquainted with the author and his work. In a future number we may adorn the columns of the Messenger with further extracts from the POEMS BY A COLLEGIAN.

In the preface, the author states that his motive for preserving his poems in their present form, was his desire "to leave among those who have taken an interest in his welfare, and with whom he has been in habits of daily intercourse, a slight memorial of himself, ere more important duties urge their claims to consideration." We know that his Alma Mater will always be proud of such a son, and that his friends, with him, under her instruction will long cherish the "memorial." A favorable opinion of it will, however, not be confined to them alone. A discerning public will see and appreciate its excellence.