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POETRY.
For the Monthly Repository, and Library of Entertaining Knowledge

STANZAS ON TIME.
I saw, and lo! a mingled throng ;

Age with its hopes were there,
And loud and joyous swell!d the song

Of youth and beauty fair ;
There vivid thought, flew on through vistas far,
And call'd life's future hopes, a beacon star.
I turn'd again to see that band,

The look’d-for bliss possess,
And saw a lone one trembling stand,

In age's deariness.
All else he said, long since had passed away
Swept off, by an all powerful, viewless sway.

I saw the lofty mountain oak,

Bleak tempests proudly dare,
In stately pride its branches spoke,

And birds of song dwelt there;
From thence the zephyr often caught the lay,
It sung upon the breezes far away.

I turned again and still’d my breath,

Those carolings to hear;
Ah! there sat stillness hush'd as death-

That home of song was near;
And all around prov'd a destroyer bold
Had there a desolating conquest told.

I saw so strongly rear'd a tower,

That nature's thunder came,
And vented all its angry power,

And yet it stood the same;
Men call'd it strength's strong fortress, for its age
Had more than number'd many an ancient sage.

I turn'd again, it disappear'd,

Touch'd by an unseen hand,
And all by man though strongly rear'd,

Pass'd as a magic wand;
Amazed I sought to know the noiseless path
Of one so desolating in his wrath.

I asked, whence this so mighty spell ?

Or where began its pow'r?"
And listening gazed for one to tell;

When lo! a dark’ning low'r
Of fearfulness, fell o'er all earthly things,
And vision shrunk’neath its awe-pinion'd wings.

Then came a gloom pall cover'd one,

On devastation's car,
And hastning said, “my course begun

With yonder morning star;
Since then decay has been my footstep, prest
On man, his works, and all earth's loveliest.”
Where shall its bearing end, I sigh’d?

And tyrant like it said,
“When all earth's hopes have been defy'd,

And sunk beneath my tread
And turn'd the limpid ocean into blood,
And dipt the moon into the crimson'd flood :
And roll'd away yon orb of fire,

And wrap'd the skies in night,
And seen mortality expire,

Then, then I take my fright;
A Seraph then, from vast eternity,
Shall cry aloud, `TIME may no longer be.'»

THE SHEPHERDESS

THE FADED ONE.

WRITTEN BY W. G. CLARKE.

Gone to the slumber which may know no waking

Till the loud requiem of the world shall swell; Gone! where no sound thy still repose is breaking

In a lone mansion, through long years to dwell!
Where the sweet gales, that herald bud and blossom,

Pour not their music, or their fragrant breath,
A seal is set upon that mouldering bosom-
A bond of loneliness—a spell of Death!
Yet, 'twas but yesterday, that all before thee

Shone in the freshness of Life's morning hours; the
Joy's radiant smile was playing briefly o'er thee,

And thy light feet impress'd but vernal flowers ; The restless spirit charmed thy sweet existence,

Making all beauteous in Youth's pleasant maze; While gladsome Hope illumined the onward distance,

And lit with sunbeams thy expected days. How have the garlands of thy Chilhood withered

And Hope's false anthem died upon the air ! Death's cloudy tempests o'er thy way have gathered,

And his stern bolts have burst in fury there; Onthy pale forehead sleep the shades of Even

Youth's braided wreath lies stained in sprinkled dust Yet looking upward in its grief to Heaven,

Love should not mourn thee save in hope we trust !

REMEMBRANCER. When unto dust, like sunny flowers departed,

From our dim paths the bright and lovely fade, The fair of form--the free and gentle hearted,

Whose looks within the breast a Sabbath made: How like a whisper on the inconstant wind,

The memory of their voices stirs the mind ! We hear the song the sigh-the joyous laughter,

That from their lips of old were wont to flow; When hope's beguiling plume they hurried after,

Ere their pale temples wore the locks of snow; When joy's bright harp to sweetest lays was strung, And poured rich numbers for the loved and young ? When the pale stars are burning high in heaven,

When the low night winds kiss the flowering tree,
And thoughts are deepening in the hush of Even,

How soft those voices on the heart will be !
They breathe of raptures which have bloomed and died
Of sorrows by remembrance sanctified !
Yet, from our pathway when the loved have vanished,

What powerful magic can their smiles restore ?
Like a rich sun burst by the tempest banished,

They passed in darkness—they will come no more !
Unlike the day beams when the storm hath fled
No light renewed, breaks on their lowly bed !
Yet if their bosoms, in this brief existence !

Glowed with the worship of an humble soul,
How should we gaze upon that upward distance

Where the clear rivers of Salvation roll ?
There, in green pastures, rise their anthems high
Why should we mourn them, when in peace they die?

EVENING HYMN FOR DOMESTIC WORSHIP

This night may the incense of prayer

From the family altar arise ;
And the angel of covenant bear

Our wishes and wants to the skies?
May the savour to thee ascend sweet

Through merits far more than our own,
And our every offering meet

Acceptance to-night at thy throne.
The sacrifice thou wilt accept,

And blest with the light of thy face,
is the spirit which contrite, has wept

And sought thy forgiveness and grace.

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BRIDGE OF HIDE ROPES OVER THE RIVER LA PLATA.

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