The Lover's Wish.

("Si j'tais la feuille.")     [XXII., September, 1828.]     Oh! were I the leaf that the wind of the West,     His course through the forest uncaring;     To sleep on the gale or the wave's placid breast     In a pendulous cradle is bearing.     All fresh with the morn's balmy kiss would I haste,     As the dewdrops upon me were glancing;     When Aurora sets out on the roseate waste,     And round her the breezes are dancing.     On the pinions of air I would fly, I would rush     Thro' the glens and the valleys to quiver;     Past the mountain ravine, past the grove's dreamy hush,     And the murmuring fall of the river.     By the darkening hollow and bramble-bush lane,     To catch the sweet breath of the roses;     Past the land would I speed, where the sand-driven plain     'Neath the heat of the noonday reposes.     Past the rocks that uprear their tall forms to the sky,     Whence the storm-fiend his anger is pouring;     Past lakes that lie dead, tho' the tempest roll nigh,     And the turbulent whirlwind be roaring.     On, on would I fly, till a charm stopped my way,     A charm that would lead to the bower;     Where the daughter of Araby sings to the day,     At the dawn and the vesper hour.     Then hovering down on her brow would I light,     'Midst her golden tresses entwining;     That gleam like the corn when the fields are bright,     And the sunbeams upon it shining.     A single frail gem on her beautiful head,     I should sit in the golden glory;     And prouder I'd be than the diadem spread     Round the brow of kings famous in story.     V., Eton Observer.