Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/108

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And to this admonition the silver voice of the mother was never wanting.

This is no tale of a disordered fancy. It is a sad story of life as it is. It presents, too, the bright side of the picture ; for alas ! how many, who have heen ruined by this demon speculation, have never been able to struggle up from poverty, but have seen their wives and little ones, perish piece-meal before their eyes, when forced to suffer hardships for which neither their habits nor constitutions had adapted them.

SONG.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

WHAT reck I of the stars, when I May gaze into thine eyes, O'er which the brown hair flowingly Is parted maiden-wise From thy pale forehead, calm and bright, Over thy cheeks so rosy-white ?

What care I for the red moon-rise ? Far liefer would I sit And watch the joy within thine eyes Gush up at sight of it ; Thyself my queenly moon shall be, Ruling my heart's deep tides for me?

What heed I if the sky be blue ? So are thy holy eyes, And bright with shadows ever new Of changeful sympathies, Which in thy soul's unruffled deep Rest evermore, but never sleep.

A REMEMBERED FORM.

BY E. J. PORTER. SHE comes before me like a dream of Eld, Her blue eyes peering through a sunny host Of waving ringlets to the light breeze tost, That swept our native hills at evening, swell'd With many a gentle breath that harpstrings boast, When in love's trelliced bower the heart hath lost All traces of each earthly care, and held Communion with sweet dreams, forever quell'd !She was my boyhood's love, her gentle soul, Poured into those blue eyes, would softly roll, And beaming with a sweetness so intense, I deemed her some light visitant from heaven, The guardian of my early day-dreams given ; Oh, for one hour of that blest innocence !

IDA ILDERTON. BY H. J. BOWLES. A WARM and delightful evening in the middle of July was fast closing, the deep clouds of night were rolling majestically over the horizon, bearing darkness and silence onward, and telling that nature was hastening to repose. The inhabitants of a fashionable square had risen from their dinner-tables, and in all the drawingrooms might be seen the light of numerous chandeliers, and groups of lovely women seeking amusement : some with the latest novels, others with lively conversation, and some (and they were not a few) sat inhaling the delightful breeze, loaded with the perfume of the flowers which were placed around the rooms and on the balconies. In one of the principal houses of the square, and in a magnificent drawing-room sat Ida Ilderton, the loveliest belle of the season, surrounded by all those little luxuries which are so indispensably necessary to highly-refined women ; where a consciousness of high birth and large possessions are augmented by mental culture and intellectual attainments. On a low ottoman at the feet of Ida lay a beautiful greyhound decked with roses, and a small, delicate love-bird rested on one of her richly-jewelled hands, while a handkerchief of lace was held carelessly in the other. She sat apparently unconscious ofthe admiration she excited, and talked in a low voice to the bird, who picked anxiously at the snowy hand which supported it. Ida's beauty was captivating ; it was so delicate, so pure. Her face was cast in the Grecian mould, with sleeping orbs, veiled with dark lashes, resting on her delicately-tinged cheek ; her mouth was small, and at each corner of her coral lips sat a light curve, displaying her pearly teeth. Her smile had a charm perfectly irresistible. On this night she wore white Mechlin lace over rich white satin, and a girdle of silver confined her sylph-like waist ; her sleeve fell over her arm to the elbow, and then displayed a beauty of contour, a classical perfection, which Praxitiles vainly had attempted to surpass ; her hand was equally faultless, and the long taper fingers were whiter than the handkerchief they held. Around her were bouquets of flowers, and vases filled with oriental perfume stood beside her ; the rich plumage of far-famed birds gleamed from cages of golden wire ; pedestals of marble and scagliola supported pale cold statues, or bijouterie and articles of vertu ; thus the room was one delicious temple, dedicated to Luxury and Art. Ida had sat playing with the bird for some time without noticing her guests, who had sought different occupations till the gentlemen arose from dinner, and most of them had gone with Mrs. Ilderton to walk in the conservatory, leaving Ida and her favorites together. At length the gentlemen ascended to coffee,