From the Knickerbocker. SECRET LOVE.
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,.Whom the Gods love die young, said of yore'

 Byron. As some young graceful flower, with clasping

 leaves, Hideth a dew drop in it's chaliced breast, Fill to it's fragrant heart the mildew c1eaves, And fades the radiance of its tinted vest So doth the maiden curtain with her heart The little gem of love that lurketh there, Till one by one, peace, freshness, health, de-

 part, And earth-the tomb and cradle of despair Shrouds her insensate form, and buries all

 her cares And such a form-so beautiful, so cold Late in the shadowed room of Death l saw, Slain by strong love, that smouldering untold, Consumed the table of it's secret law: Gently and noiselessly the strands of life Untwined. It had been sin to weep, When Mercy sealed her tortured bosom's s strife, And, mid the curtained silence dim and deep, . Death fell on her calm brow like most holy

 sleep. The glorious eyes-the blessed gates of ight! lngress and egress of heavens cheering

 beams,

 That gather, concentrate, dil1uso, delight, Like the bright sun, who feeds them with his

 streams, Lay quenched beneath the leaf-like lids,

 whose fringe 5 Clung damp and dropping to the cheek below; Her silken curls had lost their sunny tinge, And her pale face, mid the white drapery s

 flow,

 Seemed like a faded lily couched on wreaths

 of snow. It seemed but yesterday, with bounding tread She sprang before me, like woodland fay, While her rich voice exulting echo fed < With the blithe music of her mountain lay. But passion came to her green solitude, And soon her carol faded with sigh: She could not tell her love when all unwooed, She could not stem it's current, nor defy, So drank it with her soul, and then--lay down

 to die.

 Peace to thy grave, young purity! Heavens

 tears, Shed when the stars gaze through them as

 they fall, Shall beautify it's verdure. Young in years itast thou been gathered to the shroud and

 pail

 But what God wills he also sanctifes- And oh perchance his mercy most he shows, When it seems dark and doubtful in our eyes: lis better far life's book should early close, Than when it's every page is plotted OCT with

 woes.