Her cheek is pale, but her eye of blue
Now wears a bright and more glorious hue;
It tells of a maiden's constancy,
Of her faith in the hour of adversity;
On a pallet of straw in that gloomy cell,
Is a captive knight whom she loves so well,
That she's left her joyous and splendid bower
To dwell with him in his dying hour,
To pillow his head on her breast of snow,
To kiss the dew from his pallid brow;
With smiles to chase the thoughts of gloom
Which darken his way to an early tomb,
To shed no tear, and to heave no sigh,
Though her heart is breaking in agony.

M.A.J.

* * * * *



SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.

* * * * *


PITCAIRN'S ISLAND.

The _Quarterly Review_ (89) last published, is, indeed, a _Reform_
Number; for all the papers, save one, relate to some species of reform