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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE: •CM, €. RICHARDS, EDITOR. ©rijinal Jjloetni. For the Southern Literary Gazette. A SONG FORGTHE ROSE.’ / J . M . LEG ARE . There are leaves ip the forest, And bloom on the plain, And the swallows return To the cottage again. And my darling and pet Has forgotten her sighs, By the blush on her cheek And the light in her eyes. But the blossoms were gone And the scent from the gale, And the hawberries hung In long clusters and pale, And the screen of dark firs Barred the red in the West, When last her fair temples Were leaned on my breast. From the brow of the steep Overlooking the vale, How blue the far hills, And how balmy the gale That rocked the tall pines At the feet of my quoen ; Like chords ol great harps Which her voice moved between. How still were the woodlands! I heard the wet leaves Drip fresh from the shower, And under the caves The twittering swallows, And from the cool dells The kiue wending homeward With tinkling of bells. * Ah, peace !’ my heart said then-.; And ‘ Thanks be to God!’ That this green-fringed path is No longer uutrod By the feet 1 love best. Yet my words half belied The deep joy in my breast, When abruptly 1 cried ; ‘ It is ym with your brown eyes That haunt all my dreams ! Do you think I’ve no joy In the flowing of streams, In the singing of birds, In the flights of wild-bees, In the voices that moan In the tops of these trees 1 That you move my whole soul With the love in your looks, Spying lovelier things , Than are written in books ; Yes, in all ray pet-books. Is it so’? —that I’m thine For aye ; and thy being Coeval with mine 1 And for answer, she only Drew closer my heart, So happy, so quiet, So loved, so apart From the stir and the tumult ! Oh happiest fate, Where the head found a rest, And the spirit a mate. Aiken, S. C\, 1848. For the Southern Literary Gazette. TO FANNIE, BY LEILA CA ME R O N . I loved you in those early days, When you, a happy child — Amid vour sister blossoms fair. Roved carelessly and wild. I lealth, dimpled on your blooming cheek — Grace waved in every tress; Ynd to my thoughts each fleeting year. Increased your loveliness. Ves ! Fannie dear, I loved you. And as you older grew, 1 joyed to see each budding charm. Unfolded to my view. And o’er my heart unconsciously ’’he spell of love was wound. 2tn illustrated Ittccklrj Journal of Belles-fiettrcs, Science and tljc Jlrts. Till in its bright and glittering chains, My very soul was bound. Do you remember Fannie dear, That pleasant vine clad seat, Where we were wont on summer eves, At set of sun to meet 1 Your eye grew brighter when I came, Your step, more light and free — And when I spoke, your silvery laugh Rang forth, more joyously! I culled for you the fairest flowers, And twined them in your hair, And thought your smiles a rich reward, For every gentle care. But when the shades of evening stole All softly o’er the sky, Your brow, a deeper meaning wore — A milder look, yonr eye ! And then, you placed your little hand, Confidingly, in mine, As though you knew my spirit thrilled, Responsively to thine. The breeze that fanned your glowing cheek Caressed the summer flowers — Then bore away upon its wings, Those golden twilight hours! We do not meet dear Fannie now Where we so often met; But still I clasp your little hand, And sit beside you yet. And in your downcast eye I read, And on your blushing cheek— The tale your maiden modesty Forbids your tongue to speak. And dearly as I loved you then, I love you Fannie, now, And fervently as in those days 1 breathed a lover’s vow. Then dearest, will you promise, Through all your future life, To be my own, in weal or woe, My faithful, loving wife. Sparta. ©rijinat Sales. For the Southern Literary Gazette THE LADY PILGRIM* BY MISS C . W. BARBER. “ Alas ! that clouds should ever steal O’er Love’s delicious sky ; That ever Love’s sweet lip should feel Aught but the gentlest sigh !” L. E. L. It was early morning, in one of the old palaces in England. The night had been a tempestuous one, but the heavy clouds were rolling away before the dawn, and the grey mist was creeping slowly up the sides of the mountains, and hanging in dense wreaths over the little streamlet which watered the valley below. Large drops of rain hung pendant upon the foliage of the gnarled old oaks, which bordered the gravelled walks in the parks, while a flood of periume came from the half-opened buds of the sweet young wild-flowers. The proud Earl of Lincoln sat alone in his rich, but antique reception room. His atti tude was one of intense thought, for both arms rested heavily upon the marble table before him, and his head was dropped upon them as if he were entirely absorbed in his rnusings. The strong beams of light, now fast thickening, streamed in through the high stained windows, and tinged with a silvery brightness the grey locks which wandered over his venerable forehead. A loose dress ing-gown, which his faithful old servitor, Dudley, had thrown around him, was care lessly looped over his chest, and swept the heavy oak-floor upon either side of his chair. ♦Perhaps the authoress should acknowledge that she is more indebted to imagination than to history for the incidents of this sketch. Os the life and suf ferings of Lady Arabella Johnson, it is believed, lit tle is known. ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1848. while his feet were thrust into a pair of deli cately embroidered slippers, wrought by his idolized daughter, the Lady Arabella. The Earl had long sat in that same posi tion. Two or three times Dudley had passed in and out, pausing each time by the door, anxiously regarding his master, and wonder ing what had called him up that morning, long before another inmate of the casile was stirring. “ What can be the matter ?” he muttered, as he turne.J away the last time, with an air of unsati.sfieJ curiosity ‘‘He is not wont to be in such an unsocial mood. It is early, too,” he continued, as he glanced up to an old clock, which ticked in a curiously carved case, in one corner of the hall. “ Something more than usual is in the wind, for sure!” “It cannot be!” exclaimed the Earl, lifting his face with a troubled expression from his hands; ‘ S I had strong hopes of it, but it can not be 1 The Lady Arabella is determined to dash from her lips every cup of happiness and honor I, in my doting fondness, would mingle for her; she will never be a peeress in the proud realm of England—she prefer* an untitled plebian to one of her own rank—she laughs at all titles of distinction, and speaks even jestingly of stars, garters and diamonds. From whom does the girl take her disposi tion I Not from me! Heaven knows, not from me! My earliest dreams were of pow er; my infantile graspings were after the trappings of royalty : but the Countess, her mother, was a true prototype of the child — modest as the violet which hides iti the moss, unassuming as the humblest peasant girl in the kingdom. And yet she was all that a true woman should fee,” continued the Earl, at his eye moistened over her memory.— “ When alone with me, she was blithe as the spring-bird, and her heart was brimful of all the kindly affections of our nature. She is dead, and Arabella alone is left to me —sole heiress of the honors and riches of my house. I would link her with the house of Devon shire, for I cannot bear that plebian blood should ever flow through a vein which claims kindred with me; but the girl told me last night that she loved one without a title—one as careless of the world’s honors as herself. Isaac Johnson! Who is he 1 They say that he has vast wealth—that in my eye is his only recommendation. Had it been oth erwise, I would have punished his presump tion in aspiring to the hand of my child.” Again the Earl dropped his head, and mused moodily. “My Lord,” said Dudley, opening the door, and cautiously peering in, “a gentle man in the hall desires an audience with you. Shall I admit him I” “ Who is he, and what is his business at this hour V’ asked the Earl, half angrily. “ Can I never have a moment to spend with my own thoughts'? Who is it, Dudley I” “I do not know, for true,” said the old man, brushing his ear-locks back “If I might hazard a guess, I should say it was the young Duke of Devonshire —the same who aided in rescuing my young mistress last sum mer, when she was thrown from her palfrey among the jutting rocks in that terrible chasm, over which the hounds leaped while in pur suit of the stag: it may not be the same, but it looks wondrously like him !” “The Duke of Devonshire!” exclaimed the old man, his face brightening with anima tion at the mere supposition. “Impossible, Dudley! Whence does he come at this early hour I” “I cannot say, my lord, from whence he came. As I was standing on the eastern steps, 1 saw him coming through the park- VOLUME I.—-NUMBER Is. gate, with his hounds around him, and hi* hunting-bugle in his hand. I am sure that he is a nobleman, for his bugle is of ivon wrought with gold, and his dress is such a no commoner wears. He came directly up to where I was standing, and, shaking the bright drops of water from his velvet hunting-cap. said, ‘Old man, l want to see your master, inc Eail oi Lincoln, is he up f If so, go and ask an audience for me, directly.’” •Dull my dressing-gown around me, and then show him in,” said the old nobleman, animatedly. “If it is the young Duke of Devonshire, he possesses claims upon the house of Lincoln, which shall not long re main unacknowledged. I have imagined that in him was combined every thing the lady Arabella can desire in a husband, but”— The old Earl checked himself, as if fearful he was choosing an improper confidant in the person of his servant. Dudley did not reply, but, as he closed the door behind him, he muttered half aloud, “The Lady Arabella will not smile upon this new lord. Isaac Johnson wins the bright bird, or I am no prophet.” “What is that you are prophesying about, old man I” said the stranger, who had caught a faint echo of the last word. “I was replying to my master,” said the steward, evasively. “He waits your lord ship’s presence in the reception room.” “ Who told you, old man, that I was a lord?” said the stranger, with a look of sur prise. “ Lords do not usually choose an hoot thus early for visiting.” “ Very true; hut I was with my Lady Ara bella, last summer, when she met with a fear ful accident. If I mistake not, you aided in rescuing her from a watery grave.” “Ay!” said the young Duke, while a pleased expression at finding himself thus re cognized came over his fine features, and set tled upon his lip. “How is her ladyship, this morning I” The reply was unheard,for the savant opened the door of his master’s room, and stood respectfully back behind the guest he was ushering in. The Earl of Lincoln rose, while the young and handsome Duke came forward and bowed gracefully in his presence. He still retained his hunting-cap in his hand, the heavy plume of which nearly swept the floor, and his ra ven hair fell in rich masses over a brow, which would not have looked out of place beneath a crown. “ I throw myself upon your hospitality at an unusual hour,” he said, as he took the ex: tended hand of the Earl, and pressed it fer vently and respectfully. “I oweanapology, perhaps, for such an unceremonious intru sion; but the morning was inviting, and 1 came forth early with a band of followers to the chase. The sight of your castle-turrets arrested my attention, and, leaving my ex pected train to follow a deer they had aroused, I turned in hither to avail myself, for a few hours, of your hospitality.” “While the master of the castle lives,” blandly replied the Earl, u any hour which the Duke of Devonshire may choose for bis visits, will not prove ill-timed or unwelcome/ 1 The Duke bowed, as if grateful for the honor shown him by his distinguished host : then sinking upon an old and curiously carved divan, which occupied a prominent position in the room, he began to dally with his plume, and converse in his most insinuating style. The servant closed the door upon his mas ter and guest, and then turned to kennel the hounds, which were left in the yard. As he passed down the eastern steps, where he Lad been standing, when interrupted by the hunt-