Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand.

But as to women, who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, but form good housekeepers, to breed a nation.

On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.

I have not loved the World, nor the World me; I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud In worship of an echo.

It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flatter; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister