POETRY.

THE BRIDEMAID.
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BY MISS A. STRICKLAND. The bridal's gliIiering pageaniry is Der; Dancing is weary; aad the joy Ot songs Tired with iIs own wild sweetness, dies away; Music is hush'd; the dOwer arcaded halls 1 Cease tO prOong the bursts ot iesitve giee' IA ii'} For luxury itself is satate, And pleasures drowsy train demands repose' But seeI inc dawU's grey sreaks are stealing thrO' The high.arch'd windows of a stately room, Shedding pale light on the paler brow or one, who with a broken heart hath s'o'e~ From ihe gay reveIs of that j0cund nIght' To vent, nnpiiied, agony alone. In fearful iGnmoblity of form Aud feature sis she in her blank despair. Like the cold scOptured nsonFner on tomn' When silent marble wears the touching gu'se Of womans wOe--hnt oh! not woe like hersS Whose every pulse doth Vibra'e with n paDg Too stern for tears. Her dark, 6Aa.ed eye Is fix'd on things she sees not nor regasds. Her silent lute lies near her--iis chords no more Shall wake responsive to her sk'ltII touch; For he who praised its sounds, and loved to see Her white hands busy with it's murmurng strings, Hath made all music discOFd 10 her soul. Gems that a princess nigh, be proud to wear Are sparkling in her sight; but what. Hsas Are gems to her who hath beheA the hopes The cherish'd hopes of life lereyer crush'd, Aud whitening in the dust like ypn gay wreath < Which slle hath in hes bltter anguish torn From the sad brow il lately garlanded,

 And bade her maidens chang it on the tomb!'' Invidious eyes were on her when she stood

 Before the altar with the bridal train

 or her false love-ay! those who coldly scann'd Her looks and bearing, eager to detect [pride The struggling bangs which won,an's trembling In that dread hour had nerved her to conceal Beneath the naughty sembIance of distiain Or calm indifference, when the man she loved Plighied his perjur'd vows to other ears A knell to hers, al which life's rOseate tints Fled back affrighted, never to return.

 To her pale cheek, whose marble hue betray'd The fearless bridesmaids secret agony.

 The task is Der, and she is now alone, Musng o'er memory of hopes that were,

 But are for her no ionger-vanish'd dreams Are they for which she mourns. Shed mourn no Could she behold hins as he really is, lmore Strippd of the veil in which too partial love Hath dressed its idol. She would turn away, And marvel that a heart so pure as hers Had wasted tenderness on one like him.