flora’s dial. 135 
©ctober 7. 
TRAVELLER’S JOY. — Beauty. 
If on the heath she moves, her breast is whiter 
than the down of Cana ; if on the sea-beat shore, 
than the foam of the rolling ocean. Her eyes are 
two stars of light. Her face is heaven’s bow in 
showers. Her dark hair floats round it, like the 
streaming clouds. She smiles like the dwellers in 
Strinadona — Land of Souls. 
Ossian. 
dktober S. 
TAMERISK. — Crime. 
Oh, would I were at rest ! 
My heart is chill and cold ! 
The grave spreads out its arms so blest, 
My spirit to upfold, 
Kindly, peacefully ! 
There ’s fire in my brain ! 
I want the grave’s damp mould ; 
’T will soften and subdue my pain, 
(It is so wet and cold !) 
Mildly, blissfully ! 
J. W. H. 
