MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Expands its smoothness o'er a troubled soul, Like snow on the volcano's surface spread: Yet smiles, like his, come only from the depth Of bosoms, hush'd in purity and peace, As those soft dimples, which do only break, Spontaneous, on the clearest, calmest springs. A careless eye might paSs him in the crowd, A common eye might see no beauty there; For no strong contrast of dark wreathing locks, Or sunny cheek, or mark'd o'erarching brow, Attracts the gaze; yet he, who once has gazed, He knows not why, is drawn to look again, And feels a nameless ?:harm, that wins upon him, With something new, still every time he looks, Till he accuses his dull, noteless eye, That mark'd Rot all, it now beholds, before? Aye, but the mind--oh, what a pale reflex Is ev'n that countenance of such a mind !
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