TO THE ROSE.

Bright glows the rose

At roseate morning's spring,

But soon it dies

Its beauty flies

On shadowy evening's wing :

Yet though the glow

Of beauty from thy form be fled,

Still, still in death

The honied breath

Of fragrance thou dost sweetly shed.

The pride of bride.

On joyous bridal morn art thou,

For Friendship weaves

Thy choicest leaves

And blooms, to decorate her brow:

On thee, the bee

Reposes, courting thy caress,

Wooing awhile

The balmy smile

Of thy dear peerless loveliness:

The queen in mein

Of flow'rs, I deem thee, beauteous bloom!

None can compare

With thee in air,

Or boast so grateful a perfume.

O! let regret,

Frail flow'r, for thee be ever mine,

Since thou art born

(At early morn)

To live a transient hour, and pine.

Oh stay! pretty zephyr, yet linger a moment,
Thou must not so early thus hasten away;

Thou shalt sport in the sun-beams, with perfumes around thee,
And my voice shall breathe welcomes as warm as the day.

11.

Why wing thy departure! when Nature around thee,

Sits smiling and gay in her roseate prime,

And the flow'rets their tints to the morn are displaying-
Their lips filled with nectar are waiting for thine.

III.

How brilliant their shadings, when thou art beside them;
So sweetly they tremble, yet smile with delight:
Their stems in the sunny rays gracefully bending,
Now woo thee, sweet zephyr, with fancy forms bright.

IV.

Thou shalt sleep in the rose-bud, where butterflies rest,

The mossy green curtains around thee shall spread, To guard thy loved form from the dew-drops, which sparkling In show'rs, descending, shall rest on thy head—

V.

Or shouldst thou despise the parterre, gaily teeming
With products selected from Flora's rich store,
I'll show thee the cot where clematis and woodbine
In tendrils soft steal round the villager's door.

VI.

Or hence to the groves, where the citron tree blooming
Shall lull thy soft senses and steal them away;
Their fast rip'ning blossoms shall shake in the breezes,
And myrtle boughs shed their rich sweets to the day.

VII.

Now tell me, sweet zephyr, from whence didst thou haste,
Thy golden wings whisper " from regions on high,"
And realms paradisean, where sunny blue azure
For ever awaits on the zephyr's soft sigh.

VIII.

There, fancy forms linger, as bright as the day-light,
Sweet stars of the morning, companions to thee,
Thou lov'st to repose in their tresses, which, waving,
Shed odours refreshing, soft, balmy, and free.

IX.

Then stay thee, sweet zephyr, but rest thee a moment,
Yet linger an instant, thou must not away,

Thy summer, tho' fleeting, with bliss shall surround thee,
And all in sweet unison else shall be gay.

Kennington.

M. A. B.

THE SNOWDROP.

There is a flower which only grows,
When earth of all besides is bare ;
Is only found midst frosts and snows,
And seems to shine in spite of care.

"Tis like that heart which most we prize,
When loudest in affliction's storm,
Which leaves us not when fortune flies,
But loves us most when most forlorn.

J. THOMAS.

The Note Book.

ANSWER TO ENIGMA IN THE LAST NUMBER.

Music will soothe a savage breast,

Illness the sick man doth infest,

Love 's a strong passion without doubt,
Tables are what few dine without ;

Opium is useful in the night,

Newbury's in the Isle of Wight:

The initials thus brought to view,

Shew MILTON 's the place admired by you.

PETER.

EPITAPH ON A WELSH HARPER, WHO WAS DROWNED.

Yes! Love did the nymphs of the fountain deprave,

As Music's bright genius sunk in the wave:

Or else in compassion they sure had supported

The Child of the Harp, whom the Muses all courted.

Justice may be defined, that virtue which impels us to give to every person what is his due. In this extended sense of the word, it comprehends the practice of every virtue which reason prescribes, or society should expect.

The qualities of candour, fortitude, charity, and generosity, for instance, are not in their own nature virtues; and, if ever they deserve the title, it is owing only to justice, which impels and directs them.

GOLDSMITH.

The Literary Selector.

A BRUSH IN THE BOATS.

"WELL, you see, when Bill and myself belongs to the saucy N- -s. Bill, warn't she a beauty? I never seed such a craft. Why, she'd wear in her own length, and eat the eye out o' the very wind itself.

“Well, in one of our cruises off the black rocks, (for, you see, as the skipper wasn't altogether one of old Billy Blue's favourites, the ship was sometimes, for a six or seven months' spell, kept knocking about, as look-out frigate to the in-shore squadron,) and as one day we was working up with an easterly wind, to connitre the French fleet, laying in Brest outer roads, the skipper sees over the land (for he always went, like a man, to the mast-head himself) a whacking man-o'-war brig, laying all a-taunto, close under the batteries, in Conkit Bay. I was at the mast-head at the time; for, as Bill knows, he never trusted (that's in the starboard watch) a soul to take his glass aloft but myself. 'Well,' says he, squinting through his bring-'em-near, as he steadied her over the cap-he was a fine fellow. Sarch the sarvis, from Nelson down, and, blow me, if you'd a-found a finer; he'd the pluck of one o' your reg'lar built bull dogs; he cared no more for a battery than he did for a breeze, though, of the two, I'm sartin he'd sooner be spiking a gun than spilling a sail. Well,' says he, she looks like a touch-menot too ;-but never mind,' says he, shutting his glass, and shoving it into my fist, never mind, we'll at her to-night for all that' and down he goes upon deck.

6

"Well, there was send for the first leaftennant- Mr. Smith,' says the skipper, as soon as the leaftennant pops his head upon deck- Mr. Smith,' says he, in a half-and-half laugh, to try how the t'other would take it-I think,' says he, we've a job for the boats to-night.'

"Well, there was the first leaftennant rubbing his hands, strutting up and down the deck, and cutting as many capers, aye, as a midshipman over a dead marine; for you see he felt himself more than a half-made skipper. Well, you know, as soon as it gets wind