And tell her, Darwent, as you murmur bye, How in these wilds with hopeless love I burn, Teach your lone vales and echoing caves to sigh, And mix my briny sorrows with your urn!

THE SAILOR BOY'S ADIEU.

The boatswain's shrill whistle piped all hands ahoy,
The word to weigh anchor was given;
When pale turned the cheek of the poor
His eyes were uplifted to heaven.

sailor boy,

Anon.

And was it dismay that affected his breast,
Or dread of the deep, that pervaded his feelings?

6

Ah no! 'twas a passion more keenly exprest,

"Twas the throb of affection 'twas nature's appealings?

To home and to kindred he'd bidden farewell!
He strove his sensations to smother,

But

memory had bound round his bosom her spell,

And he mused on the words of his mother!

My hope is thy conduct, thy father is dead,

Be true to thy king, and ne'er shrink from thy duty; The furrows of age on my temples are spread,

Thy sister has nought but her virtue and beauty.

The sailor boy's cheek was bedewed with a tear,
His messmates beheld his emotion;

With hearty huzzas his young bosom they cheer,
It swelled with a loyal devotion.

Aloft up the shrouds to his duty he flew,

His heart glowed with courage, all obstacles braving, From his neck his dear sister's last token he drew, The pledge of her love, from the top gallant waving. G. Lewis.

EXTRACT FROM CHILDE HAROLD.

Is thy face like thy mother's! my fair child !
Ada sole daughter of my house-and heart?
When last I saw thy young blue eyes, they smiled,
And then we parted-not as now we part,
But with a hope............................

Awaking with a start

The waters heave around me; and on high
The winds lift up their voices ;-I depart
Whither I know not-but the hour's gone by',
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine

eye.

Yet once more upon the waters, yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.-Welcome to their roar !
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it leads :
Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvas fluttering on the gale
Still must I on-
-for I am as a weed!

Hung from a rock, on ocean's foam to sail,

Where'er the surge may sweep-the tempest's breath pre

vail.

Byron.

SPEECH OF AN OLD OAK IN THE PLEASURE GROUND AT

Stranger, if peace delights your cultured mind
Rest here, beneath my spreading arms reclined,
Bend thy pleased eye on yon illumined vale,
Hear my gay birds, and breathe my fragrant gale.—

-Beats thy young heart with finer feelings, warm?
Does beauty strike thee, or does virtue charm?
Or if sweet love attunes thy gentle breast,
Beneath my spreading branches, stranger! rest;

For Virtue, guest celestial, guards the glades,
And youth and beauty stray beneath my shades.

ON THE NEW YEAR.

Blest opening of another year!

Thy cheerful sounds dispel the fear

That presses down my soul:
When launching on an unknown sea,
That skirts a near eternity,

I see the billows roll.

How darkly roll; though snowy crests
Edge the blue waves, their gloomy breasts
Heave heavily along:

And vainly scans my feeble thought,

What the year's changes will have wrought,
If God my life prolong.

How low my joys may ebb; my woe-
How high its rising tide may flow,
I leave to thy command:

Anon.

This, this shall silence all my fears,
In bliss or grief, in smiles or tears,
My times are in thy hand.

Anon.

ON A TOMB-STONE IN IRELAND.

A little spirit slumbers here,

Who to one heart was very dear,

Oh! he was more than life or light,

Its thought by day-its dream by night.
The chill winds came-the young flower faded
And died the grave its sweetness shaded.
Fair boy! thou shouldst have wept for me,
Nor I have had to mourn o'er thee.
Yet not long shall this parting be!
Those roses I have planted round,
To deck thy dear and sacred ground,
When spring gales next those roses wave
They'll blush upon thy mother's grave !

Anon.