And there are some beneath whose touch
The coldest hearts expand,
As erst the rocks gave forth their tears
Beneath the prophet's hand;
And colder than that rock must be
The heart that melted not for thee.

Thy voice--thy poet lover's song
Has not a softer tone;
Thy dark eyes--only stars at night
Such holy light have known;
And thy smile is thy heart's sweet sign,
So gentle and so feminine.

I feel, in gazing on thy face,
As I had known thee long;
Thy looks are like notes that recall
Some old remembered song
By all that touches and endears,
Lady, I must have loved thee years.

_Literary Gazette._

* * * * *


COLONEL GEORGE HANGER.


Dining on one occasion at Carlton-house, it is said that, after the