Oh! not to Lady Fortune's captious hate Are fine and delicate spirits first to bow;

Wealth and young Hope, like thine, made desolate, Have broken many a sterner heart: but thou Hast quiet thoughts, and exquisite affections,

And dreams that waft thee far from storms of Earth, Sweet tears, lone musings, cherish'd recollections; And Poesy smiled on thee at thy birth; And o'er thy path one loved and tranquil Star Still flings its cheering radiance from afar.

III.

(With the MS. from which the following Lines are extracted.)

No freak I send of venturous Phantasy,

But the dull coinage of a College brain,

Wrought with fatigue, and heaviness, and pain,

And hours of cold and sober industry;

A thing of rhyme and syntax, writ to gain Haply a week's poor notoriety.

Young Poet, 't is a dearer pride to me

To know that this weak, wayward Muse of mine Hath touch'd a few such gentle hearts as thine, With her faint, melancholy minstrelsy.

Thou hast the pinions of poetic might; Mine is a poor and lowly destiny,

To gaze, far off, upon thine eagle-flight, And hail thy proud ascent to Immortality.

THE EXTRACT,

FROM A TERRIBLE LONG MS. POEM.

THOU brightest idol of th' enthusiast's heart,
Enchanting Eve, how beautiful thou art!
Spirit of soothing sounds and hues divine,
What gentle power! what tearful joy is thine!
How, at thy bidding, from their fountains roll
The fresh untroubled waters of the soul!
How soars entranced thought to realms above,
On rushing pinions of immortal love!
Or dwells, in rapture too serene to last,
On the dim, dreamlike regions of the past!
For all thy gentle hues, and sounds that seem
The airy music of some wandering dream;
Yet more for thy bright gleams of bliss gone by,
Thy breezelike whispers of futurity;

Thy calm and solemn musings,—do we raise
To thee, Enchantress, thankful hymns of praise.
'Tis thine to veil, one hour, from mortal eye,
The dreary present's dull reality;

Wafting th' entranced soul through many a scene

Of bliss to be, and rapture which hath been.

Thine are a thousand "thoughts too deep for tears,"
Gladdening remembrance of our early years;

Thoughts of the hours which with our heartstrings wove
The fairy fetters of confiding love;

Thoughts of the impulse warm, the grasp close-strain'd, The look that utter'd all the heart contain'd;

The voice that cheer'd, the gentle eyes that smiled

On the gay, sinless, and unthinking child;

And yet far holier musings oft are thine,
Sublimer moods, and raptures more divine,
When, in thy silence, at th' Eternal throne,
Man's spirit communes with his God alone;
And bends a fearful, yet unshrinking eye,
On the seal'd portal of Eternity.

Beautiful hour! when first from cloudless skies
Thou smil'dst on Adam in his Paradise,
What throbs of awe, what strange emotion ran
Throughout the being of the infant man,
While glow'd his spirit from its heavenly birth,
Clear and unclouded by the mists of earth!
With silent wonder, through the burning sky,
He saw the sun descend in majesty,
Saw the faint twilight o'er his Eden steal,
And felt such awe as sinless spirits feel,
As the last sunbeam vanish'd from his sight,
And earth was darken'd in the shade of night.
He mark'd the quiet of all living things,
The wild birds motionless with folded wings,
The weary brutes asleep in wood and brake,
Himself at last alone on Earth awake.
He saw the pale stars one by one appear,
The Moon glide upward on her calm career,
And felt, in the repose of earth and sky,

The presence of the One Divinity.

Then, with what meek devotion, through the air,
Rose the pure incense of his silent pray'r,

Till, o'er his soul, entranced in rapture deep,

First stole the awful heaviness of sleep.

Alas! how changed that soul! how fallen its pride, When, with his gentle partner at his side, Again he watch'd the sunset fade away, The first, sad sunset of a toilsome day! What gloomy visions then their fancy cross'd, What sad repinings for their Eden lost! What dark forebodings of impending woes, Of care, and pain, and sin, and death, arose!

Yet, as beneath those bright and tranquil skies,
Each caught the lustre of the other's eyes,
And felt that last, best blessing from above,
The deep, the mighty tenderness of love,
Calm hopes arose, and aspirations high,
And consciousness of Immortality,

Till, in the silence of their bliss, they smiled,
To earth and all its sorrows reconciled.

*

*

JUAN.

THE LOVER'S SONG.

SOFTLY sinks the rosy sun,

And the toils of day are past and done,
And now is the time to think of thee,
My lost, rémember'd Emily!

Come, dear Image, come for a while,
Come with thy own, thy evening smile;
Not shaped and fashion'd in fancy's mould,
But such as thou wert in the days of old.

Come from that unvisited cell,

Where all day long thou lovest to dwell,
Housed among Memory's richest fraught,
Deep in the sunless caves of thought.

Come, with all thy heraldry

Of mystic fancies, and musings high,

And griefs, that lay in the heart like treasures, Till Time had turn'd them to solemn pleasures:

And thoughts of early virtues gone,—
For my best of days with thee are flown,,
And their sad and soothing memory,
Is blended now with my dreams of thee.

-Too solemn for day, too sweet for night,
Come not in darkness, come not in light;
But come in some twilight interim,
When the gloom is soft, and the light is dim:

And in the white and silent dawn,

When the curtains of night are half undrawn,
Or at evening time, when my task is done,*
I will think of the lost remember'd one!

G. MONTGOMERY.

THE BACHELOR.

T. Quince, Esq. to the Rev. Matthew Pringle.

You wonder that your ancient friend

Has come so near his journey's end,
And borne his heavy load of ill

O'er Sorrow's slough, and Labour's hill,
Without a partner to beguile

The toilsome way with constant smile,

* And at set of sun,

When my task is done,

Be sure that I'm ever with thee, Mary!-BARRY CORNWALL.