TO HELEN.

I'VE whirled o'er leagues of plain and hill,
And like its gusts have swept the sea,
Yet one deep dream is on me still,

Sweet Helen, it is all of thee.

Back wings the heart, plain, hill, and tide, And loves, and lingers at thy side.

I see thee give the parting flower,
Whose very touch was like a spell;
And startle at its sudden power,

When deadly paleness on me fell;
And see thy guileless beauty bend
In blushing pity o'er thy friend.

My simple Helen! How that heart

Shall feel,-once conscious that it feels! What crimson to thy cheek shall dart When the first vision o'er it steals,

What tears shall weep Love's madness, folly, Thou child of Love and Melancholy.

I've seen it in that eye of blue,

Wild wandering over earth and sky,
I've seen it in that cheek's deep hue,
When some sublimer fantasy

Wrought in thee like an infant Muse ;-
But these were passion's tears and hues.

I've seen thee press the rose to lips

That might have given it richer red, And where the western sunbeam dips Its radiance, gaze till all was fled :Helen !- when once thy hour is nigh, Thy lot is bliss or misery!

Who tells thee this? A silent one,

Who loved thee, as thou lov'dst the flower,

With passion to himself unknown,

And hovered round thee hour by hour,
And saw thee but a lovely child,
Nor woke till all his soul was wild.

Child as thou wert-yet didst thou ne'er
Think who he was that loved thee so?
Did thy heart never thrill, to hear

His tone, so strange, and sad, and low?
The glance so raised, so sunk again,-
Was not the fearful secret plain ?

Yet I have torn myself from thee!
This hour the surge is at my feet,
That bears me, ah!-how gloomily!-
Where thou and I shall never meet!
Aye, 'tis a fitting hour to tell

The heart's deep history.-Fare thee well!
Literary Gazette.

SONG.

"Twas sweet to look upon thine eyes,
As they looked answering to mine own;

'Twas sweet to listen to thy sighs,

And hear my name on every tone.

"Twas sweet to meet in yon lone glen

While smiles the heart's best sunshine shed;

"Twas sweet to part, and think again

The gentle things that each had said.

But all this sweetness was not worth

The tears that dimmed its after light!

Love is a sweet star at its birth,

But one that sets in deepest night.

L. E. L.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY THE SIGHT OF SOME LATE AUTUMN FLOWERS.

THOSE few pale autumn flowers,

How beautiful they are!

Than all that went before,

Than all the summer store,
How lovelier far!

And why? They are the last!
The last! the last! the last!

Oh! by that little word,

How many thoughts are stirred;
That sister of the past!

Pale flowers! Pale perishing flowers!
Ye're types of precious things;
Types of those bitter moments,
That flit like life's enjoyments,
On rapid, rapid wings.

Last hours with parting dear ones,

(That time the fastest spends)

Last tears in silence shed,

Last words half uttered,

Last looks of dying friends.

Who but would fain compress
A life into a day,

The last day spent with one

Who, e'er the morrow's sun,

Must leave us, and for aye?

Oh, precious, precious moments!
Pale flowers! ye're types of those;
The saddest! sweetest! dearest !

Because, like those, the nearest

To an eternal close.

Pale flowers! Pale perishing flowers!
I woo your gentle breath-

I leave the summer rose

For younger, blither brows;

Tell me of change and death.

Blackwood's Magazine.

TO THE MEMORY OF COWPER.

BY MRS. HUNTER.

'Tis not thy Muse, though tuneful is her song,
That draws me, Cowper, weeping to thy tomb;
Nor could thy Grecian lore thy fame prolong
In memory, through time's revolving gloom,
Were not thy gifts of nature, and of art,
Joined to the treasure of a feeling heart.

Formed for each dear delight by man enjoyed,
For love, for friendship, and each social tie,
The nipping blast of fate thy hopes destroyed,
And in the bud thy rose was doomed to die :
Friendship remained, and there thy lot was blessed,
Of every heart, as soon as known, possessed.

O soul of tenderness! though thou art flown,
Still shall thy fair example teach the age,

That gentle sympathies perform alone

More than e'er wit or wisdom taught the sage :They bind in bonds of love the captive will, In sickness, sorrow, death, unchanging still ! English Minstrelsy.

C.

ON THE LOSS OF HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP SALDANAH.

BY THOMAS SHERIDAN, ESQ.

'BRITANNIA rules the waves!'
Heard'st thou that dreadful roar?
Hark! 'tis bellowed from the caves
Where Lough-Swilly's billow raves,
And three hundred British graves

Taint the shore.

No voice of life was there!
"Tis the dead that raise that cry;
The dead, who raised no prayer
As they sunk in wild despair,
Chaunt in scorn that boastful air,

Where they lie.

'Rule Britannia' sung the crew
When the stout Saldanah sailed;
And her colours, as they flew,
Flung the warrior-cross to view,
Which in battle to subdue

Ne'er had failed.

Bright rose the laughing morn,

(That morn that sealed her doom ;)
Dark and sad is her return,

And the storm-lights faintly burn,

As they toss upon her stern

Mid the gloom.

From the lonely beacon's height,
As the watchmen gazed around,
They saw their flashing light