Surrey to Geraldine.

BY H. T. TUCKERMAN.

"She was so beautiful as to authorize the raptures of her poetical lover; and too proud of such a suitor to let him escape. He betrays an indignant consciousness of the arts by which she keeps him entangled in her chain; and accuses her expressly of a love of general admiration, and of giving her countenance and favor to unworthy rivals."—Mrs. Jameson's Loves of the Poets.

It was not love!—my soul could never yield
To one who lives for universal sway,
Within whose breast no treasure lies conceal'd,
To selfish hopes an unresisting prey.

It was not love;-won by thy buoyant grace,
So cheering to a warm yet pensive mind,
Charm'd by the varying beauty of thy face,
Madly to thee my spirit I resign'd.

Why, when I thought to breathe affection's vow,
Came there a chill upon my burning soul?

Why silent look'd I on thy placid brow,
Hush'd by the magic touch of self-control?

In absence o'er thee would I fondly brood,
And clasp in fancy thy bewitching form,
Yet in thy presence ardor was subdued,
And instant stillness quell'd the rising storm.

Thy pleasant ways beguiled me into joy,
With rapture wild I caught thy kindly glance,
To watch thy moods seem'd life's divine employ,
Their memory still my fancy will entrance.

It was not love;-I saw thee as thou art,
Each careless word with anguish thrill'd my brain,
Intent I watch'd for tokens of a heart,

And trembled with alternate bliss and pain.

It was not love; though vast was my desire,
I pined to snatch thee from a worldly fate,
To gather up the consecrated fire,

And bear it all unquench'd to heaven's gate.

All gifts of thy young mind to me appeal'd
Like richest pearls up-gleaming from the dust,
fond gaze such promise was reveal'd
As fill'd my bosom with devoted trust.

To my

It was not love; yet sweet and generous aims
Turn'd unto thee as their predestined goal,
All that religion hopes and honor claims,

I thought to lavish on thy wayward soul.

It was not love; or in thy better hours

Some deep response thy nature would have felt, Amid life's weeds thou wouldst have known the

flowers,

And suffer'd pride in tenderness to melt.

It was not love; but kindness deep and pure,
Revering pity,-fancy-hope; nay, more,-
The heart's blind wish an object to ensure,
And for love's faith each winsome path explore.

It was not love; yet take my parting word,—
Thanks for the fairy spells bestow'd on me,
Thanks for the sad emotions thou hast stirr'd,—

Bright, reckless creature, God be near to thee!

The Missionary's Grave.

BY C. H. HOSKEN.

THE mournful cypress, the sacred yew, nor the weeping-willow, were found to adorn or cast their silent shadow upon his grave, for he died in a land where their names are strangers. The deep, deep sea, separates between him and the home of his birth, and the trees, the fruit, and the flowers, are of another clime. Over his grave stands the cocoanut-tree, the sound of whose rustling leaves in the evening breezes, like the plaintive moan of some loved one, mourns his loss; while its wide palmy branches throw a cool protecting shadow, during the scorching heat of a tropical day, to secure his peaceful resting-place from cracks and fissures, and preserve the same greenness and freshness there that were found in his hopes of immortality.

It was a dark day when death aimed his fatal arrow, and sent it with unerring certainty to quiver in his youthful heart. Then it was, that many a hope was blasted, many a fond expectation perished, many a spot was softened with tears.

It was, at first, a dark providence to himself to leave his fatherland; to imprint the last kiss on the trembling lips of a fond and aged mother; to bid adieu to the sweet home of his childhood, plough the boisterous ocean a voyage of six thousand miles, and die after a few months' residence in a foreign land. But though for a moment the heavens did appear dark, soon, soon did he perceive the rainbow of the covenant spanning the mighty arch, and shedding its resplendent glories upon the surrounding gloom. By very significant intimations the voice of Jehovah was heard, saying unto him, "Come up hither!" and as quickly as faith prevailed he looked up, and beheld the heavenly throne, the peerless majesty of Him that sat thereon, and saw a rainbow round about the throne in sight like unto an emerald. Amid these rich discoveries and overwhelming glories, he might well desire to depart and be with Christ, and joyfully respond to his heavenly Father's call.

But while he bowed joyfully to his Father's will, there were times when, for the sake of the heathen and his own youthfulness, he desired life. Nor was he insensible to the enjoyments of life. He knew that if he once became accustomed to a tropical climate, though he would be denied many temporal blessings which his soul might anxiously crave, yet were there numerous comforts to be enjoyed even there, which would in some measure compensate the losses he sustained. For in that land there are no

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