The Stolen Kiss. By Captain M‘Naghten . She slept—I have seen loveliness, Than heavenly beauty scarcely less ; Beheld in every varying form Its glories, and they well might warm The blood of aged saints, long chill’d In hearts with holiest transports fill’d. I’ve seen the soft, voluptuous eye, I’ve felt the chastely-yielding sigh, The joys, of purest love I’ve known, And the mad hour of passion—flown ; The hand, whose lightest touch, thrills through The fever’d frame :—the changing hue, From, the soft tint. of conscious love, When virtue chastens down its fire, To those warm flushes, sent to prove Th’ unbridled wildness of desire, I’ve view’d—th’ enthusiast’s brow serene, As, full of hope, she gazed on heaven, And beauty’s madden’d eye, I ye seen, When unexpected death has riven Her lover from her heart away, And reason would no longer stay. These I have seen, but never yet Has soul in such a form been set, As I beheld it shining through, With a pure brightness, all elysian, While scarce my fluttering senses knew If all was not a waking vision !— She slept—’t was’twas in a beauteous bower, Around which every perfumed flower That nature’s lavish hand could rear ; Shed its soft fragrance on the air, Which to her cheek its freshness bore As gently, in that slumber deep, As a fond mother’s breathing o’er Her first-born infant’s cradled sleep : Her clustering ringlets scarcely moved From her white brow—their resting-place— So gently each light zephyr roved Among the beauties of her face. One dazzling arm a pillow made, On which her cheek of pink was laid ; And, though her eloquent eye was hid By its almost transparent lid ; Love never yet look’d so divine, As in that still, unconscious shrine. So tranquil was her bosom fair, The eye could see no breathing there, And—but that death would never spare The loveliness which shone Forth from her form that lifeless’ seem’d— Th’ enraptured gazer might have deem’d The soul itself had gone, And left its peerless dwelling here, For glory in a higher sphere. Her lips, like two small rose-bud leaves, Were parted (just like hope and love, When hope the trusting heart deceives) And who could gaze, nor wish to prove The sweetness of the fairest flower, That bloum’d in that delicious bower ! I gazed—I bent—I softly knelt— I placed my hand upon her brow, And the impassion’d throb I felt, Is in my burning bosom now. I knelt—and on her brow I placed My hand, but not a sign I traced Of her returning consciousness ; And then I even dared to press But lightly, on her cheek’s pure bloom, And all was quiet—as the tomb ! My burning lip to hers I brought, Its scarce felt breath I madd’ning caught— They met !—oh ! it would whelm again This long chill’d soul and aged brain, Were I to dwell on that brief minute, And the wild rapture there was in it. That bow’r of fragrance long hath faded, And death long, long hath overshaded That brow of beauty, and we’ve parted, She, to be bless’d—I, broken-hearted !