the eye as the window of the heart, into which true love looks to see the image of his soul :—

Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,

What humble suit attends the answer there.

This poet of Nature and Nature's God; of Time, whose rolled pandect he peereth into, and of all eternities and eternals, has given a few words descriptive of the poet's eye. That highly quickened and rapturous sight can only yield delight to the intellectual and spiritual :—

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

:

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing,

A local habitation and a name.

for we

May we make one more quotation for the young, would assure the young they may trust true love; it will ennoble, purify, and set up idealities in the soul, which will elevate the mind. It will attract from low and unworthy purposes, and give life and zest to the purest parts of our nature. The mean, selfish, and sensual will not understand this :

But love first learned in a lady's eye,
Lives not immured in the brain;
But with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thought in every power,
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their offices;
It adds a precious seeing to the eye.

This magician, in the Winter's Tale, observes .-
He says he loves my daughter,

I think so too, for never gazed the moon

Upon the water, as he'll stand and read,
As 'twere my daughter's eyes.

In his Romeo and Juliet, he compares the spheres of

sight to stars. He is right, for woman's eye enlivens, encourages, and solaces, when rugged anxieties surround man :— Her eye discourses, I will answer it,

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks;
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres, till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?—
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp, her eye in heaven
Would thro' the airy region stream so bright,

That birds would sing, and think it was not night.

Byron says, the eye is made bright by sleep, and we may quote

The crowd are gone, the revellers at rest;
The courteous host, and all approving guest
Again to that accustomed couch must creep,
Where joy subsides, and sorrow sighs to sleep.
And man o'erlaboured with his being's strife,
Shrinks to that sweet forgetfulness of life.
There lie Love's feverish hope and Cunning's guile,
Hate's working brain, and lulled Ambition's wile.

O'er each vain eye oblivion's pinions wave,

And quenched existence couches in a grave.
What better name may slumber's bed become-
Night's sepulchre, the universal home,

Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue sink supine,
Alike in naked helplessness recline.