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TO THE PLANET JUPITER.

BY THE REV. GEORGE, CROLY.

I LOOKED on thee, JOVE, till my gaze
Sank, smote from the pomp of thy blaze;
For in heaven, from the sunset's red throne
To the zenith-thy rival was none.

From thy orb rushed a torrent of light,
That made the stars dim in thy sight,
And the half-risen moon seemed to die,
And to leave thee the realm of the sky.

I looked on the ocean's broad breast-
The purple was pale in the west;
But down shot thy long silver spire,
And the waves were like arrows of fire.

I turned from the infinite main,
And thy light was the light of the plain,
'Twas the beacon that blazed on the hill :-
Thou wert proud, pure, magnificent still.

A cloud spread its wing over heaven ;-
By the shaft of thy splendour 'twas riven,
And I saw thy bright front through it shine
Like a God from the depth of his shrine.

But, planet of glory and awe,
It was not thy lustre I saw,
For my soul was absorbed in the night
When last I had gazed on thy light.

I thought of the hand I had held,
Of the heart by that soft hand revealed,
Of the eye fixed with mine on thy beam,
And the world was forgot in my dream.

Flame on then, thou king of the sky,
For thy brightness is joy to my eye;
For this hour thou art beaming above
The home of my wife and my love.

Literary Gazette.

STANZAS,

BY WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ.

On receiving from Dr. Rush, of Philadelphia, a piece of the Tree, under which William Penn made his Treaty with the Indians, converted to the purpose of an Inkstand.

FROM clime to clime, from shore to shore,
The war-fiend raised his hated yell,
And midst the storm that realms deplore,
Penn's honoured tree of Concord fell;
And of that tree, that ne'er again

Shall Spring's reviving influence know.
A relic o'er the Atlantic main,
Was sent the gift of foe to foe!
But though no more its ample shade,
Wave green beneath Columbia's sky,
Though every branch be now decayed,
And all its scattered leaves be dry,
Yet midst the relic's sainted space,
A health-restoring blood shall spring,
In which the angel-form of Peace
May stoop to dip her dove-like wing.
So once the staff the prophet bore,
By wondering eyes again was seen
To swell with life through every pore,
And bud afresh with foliage green.
The withered branch again shall grow,
Till o'er the earth its shade extend-
And this the gift of foe to foe-
Becomes the gift of friend to friend.

LINES ON A SKULL.

BEHOLD this ruin! - "Twas a skull
Once of ethereal spirit full!
This narrow cell was life's retreat;
This space was thought's mysterious seat ;-
What beauteous pictures filled this spot!
What dreams of pleasure long forgot!
Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear,
Has left one trace of record here.

Beneath this mouldering canopy,
Once shone the bright and busy eye;
But start not at the dismal void,
If social love that eye employed,
If with no lawless fire it gleamed,
But through the dew of kindness beamed,
That eye shall be for ever bright,
When stars and suns have lost their light.

Here, in this silent cavern, hung
The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue;
If falsehood's honey it disdained,

And where it could not praise, was chained,-
If bold in virtue's cause it spoke,
Yet gentle concord never broke,-
That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee
When death unveils eternity.

Say, did these fingers delve the mine,
Or with its envied rubies shine?
To hew the rock, or wear the gem,
Can nothing now avail to them;
But if the page of Truth they sought,
Or comfort to the mourner brought,
These hands a richer meed shall claim
Than all that waits on wealth or fame.

Avails it, whether bare or shod,
These feet the path of duty trod?
If from the bowers of joy they fled.
To soothe affliction's humble bed;
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned,
And home to virtue's lap returned-
These feet with angel's wings shall vie,
And tread the palace of the sky.

Manchester Exchange Herald.

THE GROUND SWELL..

WRITTEN ON THE BREAKWATER, PLYMOUTH SOUND.

THE Sun is high, the Atlantic is unfanned
Even by the breathing of the gentle West;
And yet the broad blue flood is not at rest!
Amid the holy calm on sea and land,
There is a murmuring on the distant strand;
And silently, though Ocean heaves its breast,
The shoreward swellings wear a feathery crest,
And meet the opposing rocks in conflict grand.
These, ships that dare the eternal winds and seas,
In the commotion, roll without a breeze,
And as their sides the huge upswellings lave,
His flagging sails the listless seaman sees,
And wishes rather for the winds to rave,
And, like an arrow, dart him o'er the wave.
Literary Gazette.

N. T. C.

* The Ground Swell is principally occasioned by storms in the Atlantic, which agitate the sea many days after the tempests have ceased. The ocean heaves, as it were, in masses, but its surface is quite smooth, i. e. unbroken into waves, and without foam, except where it comes in contact with the coast.

MIRKWOOD MERE.

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

LATE, when the Autumn evening fell,
On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell;
The lake returned, in chastened gleam,
The purple cloud, the golden beam;
Reflected in the crystal pool,
Headland and bank lay fair and cool;
The weather-tented rock and tower,
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower;
So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
As if they lay beneath the wave,
Secure from trouble, toil, and care,-
A world than earthly world more fair.

But distant winds began to wake,
And roused the Genius of the Lake!
He heard the groaning of the oak,
And donned at once his sable cloak;
As warrior at the battle cry,
Invests him with his panoply;
Then, as the whirlwind nearer pressed,
Began to shake his foamy crest

O'er furrowed brow and blackened cheek,
And bade his surge in thunder speak.
In wild and broken eddies whirled,
Flitted that fond ideal world;
And to the shore in tumult tost,
The realms of fairy bliss were lost.
Yet, with a stern delight and strange,
I saw the spirit-stirring change!
As warred the wind with wave and wood,
Upon the ruined tower I stood,
And felt my heart more strongly bound,
Responsive to the lofty sound;
While joying in the mighty roar,
I mourned that tranquil scene no more.

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