TO A GREAT COAT,

After travelling in it the greater part of a very inclement day.

Thanks, gentle coat! whose snug grey fold

Preserv'd so warm the Poet's skin,
And kept from rains and killing cold

The Minstrel-fire that glow'd within.

Thanks, coat! and thou, blue kerchief, too-
Protectors kind 'gainst wind and weather,
I pay in song my debt to you,

And send you down to fame together.

In summer time, obliging pair!

I might have scorn'd your offer'd love,
When life was in the genial air,

And joyous sunshine laugh'd above.
But now, when wintry blasts prevail'd,
And snow came feathering thro' the air,
Ev'n ****** 's puns perchance had fail'd
To cheer me, hadst not thou been there.

'

'Tis thus, in boyhood's witless hour,
We mock at love's delightful tie,
And wonder what mysterious power
Grave man can find in woman's eye.

But when our rising passions move,
When sickness smites, or cares invade us,

We feel our want of woman's love,

And know for what our nature made us.

FRAGMENT.

Oh! come to me now, for my sorrows are past,

And the cloud on my heart is dissolv'd at last;

Spirit of Poesy, come from above,

Come, on the wings of nature and love!

Come, while the yellow light streams thro' the pane,

And the air is fresh with the morning rain,

And the wind is up with its sweet wild voice,

Like a song of sorrow that bids us rejoice.

Come 'mid fancies gathering fast,

'Mid thoughts of the present, and thoughts of the past;
Oh! come to me now! 'tis thy chosen hour,

And the spirits of evil no longer have power!

But here is something refreshing and exciting. Two more Enigmas from Vyvyan himself. Why does not Vyvyan ad

vertise a Reward for the best solutions ?-like the "Ladies' Diary," or the "Youth's Pocket book?" Really Vyvyan's are the best Riddles extant-he is himself a Riddle :

ENIGMAS.

A Templar kneel'd at a friar's knée ;
He was a comely youth to see,

With curling locks, and forehead high,

And flushing cheek, and flashing eye;

And the Monk was as jolly and large a man
As ever laid lip to à convent can,

Or called for a contribution;

As ever read, at midnight hour,
Confessional in lady's bower,

Ordain'd for a peasant the penance whip,
Or spoke for a Noble's venial slip
A venal absolution.

"Oh, Father! in the dim twilight
I have sinned a grievous sin to-night;
And I feel hot pain e'en now begun
For the fearful murther I have done.

66

The merry Monk did say;

Though thine eye be bright, and thine heart be light,
Hot spirits shall haunt thee all the night,

Blue devils all the day."

The thunders of the Church were ended,
Back on his way the Templar wended;
But the name of him the Templar slew
Was more than the Inquisition knew.

The Indian lover burst

From his lone cot by night

When Love hath lit my first,

In hearts by Passion nurst,

Oh! who shall quench the light?

The Indian left the shore;

He heard the night-wind sing,

And curs'd the tardy oar,

And wish'd that he could soar,
Upon my second's wing.

The blast came cold and damp,
But, all the voyage through,

I lent my lingering lamp,

As o'er the marshy swamp

He paddled his canoe.

What Murray!-my old true friend of the Muse! I am sure thy graceful rhymes need no recommendation; so here they fly as fast as the mail will carry them, to the immortality of the Quarterly Magazine:

FAREWELL.

Farewell! farewell! that word of sever'd hearts

Hath seldom been to me a sadder sound.

A stranger from thy home of peace departs,

Yet all he quits to him is holy ground.
I feel the sanctity of love around,
Domestic love and quiet tenderness;
And never may on earth a spot be found
So rich in all that gentle spirits bless,
In all that poets dream, and never half express.

Watch thy small hands the cheering leaf infuse,
And laugh, beneath thy quiet look to find

The smile of silent thought, the sparkle of the mind.

* Le Nouveau Tableau de Famille.

Not soon shall I forget our darkened cell,
The mid-day twilight of our fragrant bower,
Where morning's coolness lingering loved to dwell,
And roses and the rich syringa flower
In blended beauty seemed to overpower
The very air with sweetness. Many a lay
Of love and sorrow wiled the sultry hour—
Of him who saw his loved one's wedding-day,
Then broken-hearted died in silence far away.

The sun sank down unclouded, and the breeze
Came wafting freshness from the pale grey sky,
And murmured in the quivering aspen-trees;
And oft unconsciously, in wandering by,

We paused, and listened with a smile and sigh
To that low melancholy music: few

And dim the stars were twinkling: and the eye
And ear a feeling of sweet sadness drew

From whispering winds and leaves, and evening's shadowy hue.

And Thou, with whom in twilight walk I strayed,
Wilt thou forgive me, if I turn to thee?
For once or twice, in solitude and shade,
A smile so simply sweet looked up to me,
That, wanderer as I am and fancy-free,
That look still haunts me like a lovely dream;
By lonely midnight musing still I see
That vision bright and beautiful, a gleam
Of momentary light on life's o'er-shadowed stream.

And this shall be my solitary pleasure

In studious cloister pale' or green arcade;
And long will Memory linger o'er her treasure:
The vine-clad cottage, and the rustic shade
With woven willow and the wood-bine made,
The portal turret, and the hoary spire,
In the soft sheen of summer-moon arrayed,
Or flashing with the lightning's livid fire,
Then deeper seeming still in darkness to retire.

Farewell! the smile of peace-the laugh of mirth,-
The silent sadness of the pallid brow—

To many a kindly thought had given birth,

Which shrunk from utterance, till I breathed them now.
And thou, the friend of days more boyish-thou,
The friend of evenings still remembered well,—
To me some thoughts of friendship yet allow,
And there will yet be magic in the spell,

Which calls up happy dreams from memory's haunted cell.

SONNET TO MINNA.

I saw thee young and lovely; but I deemed
Thy beauty like some consecrated shrine,
Which might not be profaned by aught of mine,
Save holiest aspirations: and I seemed,
E'en while I gazed, as if I only dreamed

Of some fair vision, delicately fine
And of aërial softness, more divine
Than all that e'er on waking fancy beamed.
One year, one little year, has passed away;

And thou art of my heart's most cherished treasures:
I am no stranger to thy simple pleasures ;
For me thy sweet familiar smiles may play ;
And I may love thee with a brother's love,
And greet thee thus, and thou wilt not reprove.

THE EVENING STAR.

There is a love-charm in thy magic smile,
Pale star of evening. As thy circlet shone
In twilight's rosy ocean, like an isle
Elysian, I have gazed and wandered on,
And paused fantastic lays of love to con,
And started with a sigh, and gazed again.
The visions of the love-sick boy are gone ;
Yet still thy spell recalls their idle train,
And memory's quiet tears the cheek of manhood stain.

In the wild worship of the earlier day,
Youths, blest by vows at Hymen's virgin shrine,
* Enraptured viewed at last thy loitering ray,

And deemed that love's own goddess might entwine
Her power, her honours, and her name, with thine.
Still thou art love's own star; the fond and fair
Still smile to see thee in thy beauty shine;
And burning blushes, murmured tones, are there,
More deep than twilight glow, more soft than evening air.

Love breathes his sighs in stillness and in shade;
And purple clouds, dim stars, and twinkling dews,
And slumbrous music by the breezes made,

A love of loving to the soul infuse.

*Catull. Carm. lxii.

Bion Carm. xvi.