Who does not know the restlessness of an anticipated arrival ? - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Race of the rainbow wing, the deep blue eye
Whose palace was the bosom of a flower;
Who rode upon the breathing of the rose ;
Drank from the harebell ; made the moon the queen
Of their gay revels ; and whose trumpets were
The pink-veined honeysuckle; and who rode
Upon the summer butterfly : who slept
Lulled in the sweetness of the violet's leaves,—
Where are ye now ? And ye of eastern tale,
With your bright palaces, your emerald halls ;
Gardens whose fountains were of liquid gold ;
Trees with their ruby fruit and silver leaves,—
Where are ye now ?

Now, a fancy ball is bad enough in London, where milliners are many, and where theatres have costumes that may be borrowed or copied ; but in the country, where people are left to their own devices—truly to them may be applied the old poet's account of murderers, "their fancies are all frightful.”

Who shall say
The love of genius is a common thing,
Such as the many feel—half selfishness,
Half vanity?—for genius is divine,
And, like a god, doth turn its dwelling-place
Into a temple; and the heart redeem'd
By its fine influence is immortal shrine
For love's divinity.