The Alexandria Herald

To the Editor of the Alexandria Herald.

SIR--Having frequently observed in your paper many beautiful productions over the signature "Florio," which I much admired, accidentally met with the following sketch, the fruits of the poetical taste of that brilliant writer, and ventured, therefore, to submit to you a copy, with hopes that you would favour me so far as to give it publicity. The talents of "Florio" as a poet deserve encouragement, as I am convinced that ere long, they will do honour to the American name.

M.

Washington City, December 14.

A SKETCH...No. 2

The scene was changed-
A lily sprung upon the desert rock,
A blossom flourished upon the blasted tree;-
His natal star-once more in golden light
Pursued its march and beaconed him to joy.
One lonely, lovely being praised his worth,
And won his spirits from its solitude.
Earth wore the hue of heaven! How beautiful,
How fair she was! even as the dark eyed daughters
Of Allah's visionary paradise.
Upon the cheek so pure and delicate,
The lily struggled with the crimson rose?
And all the magic, all the witchery
That ever lover dreamed or poet sung
Glowed in the lightening of her dark blue eye,
Oh! she was beautiful! her raven hair
Hung in profusion round her neck of snow-
And oft in maiden glee in sportiveness
Her gentle hand would catch the scattered curls
And bind them in a braid around her brow--
Oh she was beautiful! her graceful form
Moved upon earth so light and free--
She seemed a seraph wanderer from the sky,
Too bright, too pure, too glorious for earth
He loved-nay more--he madly idolized,
And kneeling in devotion at her shrine,
Even.
Breathed into her prayers that were due to Heaven
His spirit sprung to hers--all other thoughts
All other feelings vanished from his mind,
And one intense, devoted, deathless ardor,
One passion joyous even to agony,
Glowed in his throbbing heart and this was love,
Yes, it was love! let the cold hearted smile,
And let the senseless, the unfeeling fool
Whose dull lethargic spirit never soar'd
Beyond its vile and perishable clay,
Who steals through life, unblessing and unblest,
Let him deride those throbs he cannot feel--
But angels bless, and heaven inspires such love!
Oh the heart's deep and fond idolatry,
Source of delight and of sweetest woe,
Shrine,
There hangs a morning wreath on beauty's
When life is in its springs, and time as yet
Nor blights the bud, nor steals the floweret's hue.
Look once again the mildew of decay
And sorrow's canker have been working there.