MARIE OF WTEMBURG.'
��WHO moves in beauty, 'mid the regal bowers
Of her dear native France ? And, while the. fairy- footed hours Round her all enchanted dance, With florist's care doth nurse meek virtue's flowers P Who bends so low To hear the tale of woe, And, with a cloudless sunshine in her breast, Findeth her highest joy in making others blest?
Genius, with inspiration high, Beams from her enkindled eye,
Her sculptur'd touch, how fine, The graces o'er her chisel hang, and guide its every line :
��* When tidings of the death of the Princess Marie, who, it will be remem- bered, was the daughter of Louis Philippe, and married to the Duke of Wurtemburg, reached France, the queen, in the midst of her grief, said, " I have a daughter less, but heaven an angel more."