"The palm and cypress cast a pleasant shade
Around; and many a silvery fount was there
With murmuring voice, and many a long arcade,
Lending a shelter from the noon-tide glare.
It was an isle of beauty, placed apart
From common earth in that wide desert's heart.
"Stillness was o'er the plains-a silent gloom
Brooded above them. But within the town
All breathed of life, and youth, and joy, and
bloom,

As if the dwellers in it had cast down
All worldly cares, all grief, all dark dismay,
Making their life one sunny holiday.

:

"City of palm-trees, fare thee well! How oft
Doth memory turn to thee, as if that thou
Hadst been a place I loved and in her soft
Dissolving hues she paints thee, till a glow
Hangs round thee, lovely even as thine own
When sunset girds thee with a golden zone."

Our opinion of the collection has now been sufficiently expressed; and as to her bereaved parents, it will doubtless be a soothing memorial of their departed child, (who really in her own beautiful and af fecting Dirge in Autumn, seems, by anticipation, to have described her early removal from this vale of tears,) so we heartily wish all success to a publication which, in his advocacy of it, does credit to the taste and credit of the learned editor; though perhaps rather saucily, and doubtless much too hastily, we expressed what had been our secret misgivings as to his poetical susceptibilities.

DECORATIVE ART SOCIETY.-Several meetings of this society have lately been devoted to inquiries and illustrations of the properties of various kinds of timber, with microscopical examinations of their structure, and the effects produced on them by Paynising.-On Wednesday, 28th May, a general consideration of "Geometrical figures as the foundation of graceful ontline," was commenced; and although this may not be strictly true as a theorem, it afforded an opportunity for the recognition and development of some of the leading principles by which the best works of ornament are regulated. The varying elements and explained. It was considered that the imof form peculiar to different epochs were noticed portance of the subject rendered it deserving of continued attention, and it was therefore determined that it should be brought before the society monthly until further notice.-On Wednesday, June 11th, a paper will be read "On stained glass:" and at the meeting on the 25th, the consideration of "Geometrical figures" will be resumed by discussing "The properties of the oval."--Lit. Gaz.

Oh, my dear daughter! from this simple truth
One lesson take,-enjoy the passing hour
With grateful heart, but in thy spring of youth
Sow thou those seeds that may in autumn flower.
The present scarce a moment doth it last,

E'en as we speak and call it ours 'tis gone, Borne on Time's current, mingled with the past, It melts and lives in memory alone.

Watch then, oh watch! with never-ceasing care, O'er thy young heart and each awakening sense,

Leave not repentance on thine age to bear,
Let Memory's record tell of innocence.

Happy are they who o'er each bygone year Without remorse can retrospective gaze, And calmly view the end of life's career, As we the evenings of our loveliest days.

THE TRUST RECLAIMED.

BY MRS. ABDY.

THE chieftain hastened homeward from the field of battle strife,

Eager to clasp his blooming boys and fair and faithful wife;

Alas! his vassals welcomed him in accents faint and low,

And his lady on a couch reclin'd in deep and si

lent woe.

"What aileth thee, sweet Isabel? hast thou no smile or word

To greet thy long-expected love, thy wearied warrior lord?"

But ever as he soothed her grief tears trickled from her eyes,

And mournfully she told her tale with sad and broken sighs.

"A potent ruler once," she said, "committed to my care

Two exquisite and precious gems of lustre rich

and rare;

He bade me the deposit guard with prudence firm and just,

Till summoned at a future day to render up my

trust.

Time pass'd away; those dazzling gems shone ever on my sight,

And daily they appeared to me more beautiful and bright;

My love for them increased by years, and, rash and reckless grown,

In fondness and forgetfulness I deem'd them all my own.

The rightful owner bids me now prepare my trust to yield;

Alas! I may not from his arm my cherish'd treasure shield;

Yet may my tears upbraid the act tyrannic and

severe

That rends from my unwilling grasp the gems I hold so dear."

Restore the gems, nor show thyself, by weak complaints of wrong,

Unworthy of the noble trust reposed in thee so long."

A look of soft serenity replaced the lady's gloom. She gently led her husband to a still and darken'd room;

There lay his lov'd and lovely boys once strong in beauty's pride,

Each wrapped within a snowy shroud, they slumber'd side by side.

The father gazed upon the dead-the warrior's heart grew weak;

Sobbing in bitter agony, he vainly strove to speak

"See here," his trembling lady cried,

I fear'd to tell;

the loss

Mounting the green and breezy hill, There to pursue your playful gambols, Or wandering to the ivied mill,

That sweetest of all summer rambles.

'Tis eve, and now by yonder brook, Homeward I mark ye swiftly wending, None wear a sad and troubled look

Because the day's glad sports are ending; To study ye shall turn again,

Refresh'd and cheer'd by healthful leisue, And shall by diligence obtain

A passport to fresh hours of pleasure.

Alas! when in the school of life
We find in after years employment,
And from its path of busy strife

Snatch a short season of enjoyment,
We hope "free nature's grace" to share,
We hope to break the chains that bind us—
But no, in spots most bright, most fair
We drag our fetters still behind us.

crown,

Who may it be, the Bard, of whom this lay
Is type and voice, and who is thus sent down
To teach Man how to joy and weep and
pray?—

Behold! 'Tis even she-the Maiden Child
With Italy's gold olive in her cheek,
And ebon ray in hair and eye; the mild

Yet not withal less resolute Girl, than meek, Who stands before you clasping in one hand

A little homely instrument laid in her breast, Whilst in the other one, a wizard wand

Ruling its chords, from that soft place of rest Draws forth a stream of sweet and noble thought So thrilling, we know not the which it be, Anguish or joy, it hath within us wrought, The Rapture heaves in such lost agony Of tears and sighing-only to surcease

When that the soaring Theme upborne above Earth's yearnings, swells into a hymn of peace And praise, and piety, and blessed love, And Life Immortal!-Oh the gift, the gift Of such rare Faculty divine! Avaunt, Ye sordid Artisans of sound, that lift

No soul, or "lap it in Elysium"! Haunt No Hall of Poet Harmony! Your sleight And conjury of hand's all vanity

Like angel at the prow,

Would cheer us to the haven of health-
We've nought but "memories" now!

Youth's days are fled, and in their stead
Come sorrow, grief, and tears;
And for the sunny morns of song
We number heavy years!
Fond friends are gone, and we alone
Must 'neath affliction bow-

Time was when we gave happy healths-
We've nought but "memories" now!

A STRANGER MINSTREL-A POEM.

BY S. T COLERIDGE.

Not published in any edition of his Work-Written to Mrs. Kobinson a few days before her death.

As late on Skiddaw mount I lay supine Midway the ascent, in that repose divine When the soul, centered in the heart's recess, Hath quaffed its fill of Nature's loveliness,

Light

Is Darkness in ye! Fallen Humanity Needs higher, holier Teachers! Stand aloofWhilst our young Prophetess and Patron Saint, Our second St. Cecilia, from the roof

Of Poesy's high Heaven descends to paint In revelations lyrical-alone

Interpretation meet of things supernalThe glories that encompass that Sky-Throne, Its majesty, and might, and love, and truth Eternal!

BIRTH-DAY RECOLLECTIONS.

BY ROBERT GILFILLAN.

OH! for the songs of other years,

When life and joy were young;
When nought but gladsome tales were told,
Or mirthful strains were sung!

When birth-day "healths," with welcomes high,
Were given with cheerful brow!
Our cups, alas! in silence pass-

We've nought but " memories" now!

And round our little social board

Was seen that watchful eye-
One who, though knit to us on earth,
Yet raised our hopes on high!
She who in childhood's helpless days
Around our couch did bow-

A mother's name-no more gives fame-
We've nought but "memories" now!

Oft in the stormy sea of life,

Our bark, by tempest driven, Full dashing on the shoals of fate With cords and canvass riven,

And fain would thirst again, again to quaff; Then when the tear, slow travelling on its way,

Fills up the wrinkle of a silent laugh;
In that sweet mood of sad and humorous thought,
A form within me rose, within me wrought
With such strong magic, that I cried aloud,
"Thou ancient SKIDDAW! by thy helm of cloud,
And by thy many-colored chasms so deep,
And by their shadows that forever sleep-
By yon small flaky mists that love to creep
Along the edges of those spots of light,
Those sunshine islands on thy smooth gree
height-

And by yon shepherds with their sheep,
And dogs and boys, a gladsome crowd
That rush even now with clamor loud
Sudden from forth thy topmost cloud—
And by this laugh, and by this tear,
I would, old SKIDDAW! she were here!
A lady of sweet song is she-

Her soft blue eye was made for thee!
Oh, ancient SKIDDAW! by this tear

I would, I would, that she were here!"

Then ancient SKIDDAW, stern and proud,
In sullen majesty replying,
Thus spake from out his helm of cloud-

(His voice was like an echo dying!) "She dwells, belike, by scenes more fair, And scorns a mount so bleak and bare !" I only sighed when this I heard, Such mournful thoughts within me stirred That all my heart was faint and weak, So sorely was I troubled !

No laughter wrinkled now my cheek,
But oh! the tears were doubled.

But ancient SKIDDAW, green and high,
Heard and understood my sigh;
And now, in tones less stern and rude,
As if he wished to end the feud,
Spake he, the proud response renewing-
(His voice was like a monarch wooing!)

566

"Nay but thou dost not know her might-
The pinions of her soul how strong!
But many a stranger in my height
Hath sung to me her magic song,
Sending forth his ecstacy

In her divinest melody.

And hence I know her soul is free-
She is where'er she wills to be,

Unfettered by mortality!

Now to the haunted beach' can fly,
Beside the threshold scourged with waves ;
Now to the maniac while he raves,
'Pale moon! thou spectre of the sky,'
No wind that hurries o'er my height
Can travel with so swift a flight.
I too, methinks, might merit
The presence of her spirit!
To me, too, might belong
The honor of her song,
And witching melody
Which most resembles me,
Soft, various, and sublime,
Exempt from wrongs of Time!"

Thus spake the mighty mount, and I
Made answer with a deep-drawn sigh-
"Thou ancient SKIDDAW, by this tear,
I would, I would, that she were here!"

CHARLTON.

"More life, and fuller, 'tis we want."-Alfred Tennyson.

THUS standing on a mound of graves,
To look out on the living world,

That in this vernal sunshine waves-
On ships with their broad sails unfurled,

(Large vehicles of merchandise,

Crowding the all too narrow stream,)

That back upon the steadfast eyes,

From their far-winding progress, gleam

Like white-winged birds, before the sun,-
Who would the story of these tombs,
Like a mere thoughtless coward, shun?
The heart of every tree that blooms,

In this its hour of gladness, saith:

"Life must be something more than breath."

For man, who can identify
Himself with what can never die,
There can be no such thing as death.

Beauty and love, with outstretched arms,
And eyes more lustrous by the light
Of kindled hearts and ripened charms,
Still in their old embrace unite.
And all that wintry thoughts congeal
Beneath spring's passion will relax-
As a proud heart, beneath the seal

Of sovereign love becomes like wax.
Longer than graves shall keep alive
The fading memory of the dead,
And long as earth shall be a hive

Of industry, and flowers, outspread Thereon by God's impartial hand,

Why, then, should graves beget more gloom
Than this old mansion in the rear?
Death must have been in every room

Of its magnificence, and fear
Of death be stronger there than here.
And yet it speaks of life alone-
Of life in the potential mood-

As if its walls were little prone
To thoughts of common brotherhood
With any cottage built of clay.

But wherefore linger here? The pink
Of May upon the apple-tree
Stands on annihilation's brink;

And in the distance I can see,

Bursting and bleaching in the sun,

Large sheets of it-where with loud voice, And thoughts, perchance, of unfledged young, Secure, the blackbird doth rejoice ;

While various notes of softer song-
Like nestling love retired to rest
With gladness in its heart so strong
That it will overflow its nest-
Are up from hedge and thicket flung.
Yet I still grasp the iron-rail,

As if from graves I could not flee,
And watch the river's onward trail
From London to the other sea.

Bright Thames! amidst much wo and weal Thou windest onward, ever bright,

Beneath the heavy-laden keel,

And the gay skiff that dances light,
With beauty sitting in its bow,
The river of the world art thou.
And thou shalt ever wind
Fertile and free and bright as now,
Through solitudes and cities ebb,
A thread of gold with the dark web
Of the world's history twined.

HOPE.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

MAN ever talks, and man ever dreams
Of better days that are yet to be;
After golden goal, that distant gleams,
Running and racing untiringly.

L. D.

The world may grow old and young as it will, But the Hope of man is Improvement still!

Hope bears him into life in her arms,
She flutters around the boy's young bloom;
Youth's ardent soul with her magic warms,
Nor e'en with age doth herself entomb;
For ends man his weary course at the grave;
There plants he-Hope, o'er his ashes to wave.

throughout the land.

C. R. L.