How strikingly different is this from the love catastrophes in general! But here is a contrast, a perfectly radiant portrait, a being of gay delight and meditative feeling, a perfectly original union of qualities, and yet a union to be realized She shall be sportive as the Fawn That, wild with glee, across the lawn And her's shall be the breathing balm, And her's the silence and the calm. We could easily form a gallery of female characters out of Wordsworth's poems; but, at present, we must give only one other portrait, as fine a contrast to the last, as that was to the preceding one : Many a passenger Hath blessed poor Margaret for her gentle looks, But that it seemed she loved him. Not speaking much, pleased rather with the joy Akin to his portraiture of the female character, is his treatment of the passion of love. He makes it the sweetening influence, not the engrossing business of life,-a principle that it is to sustain and elevate the soul, to strengthen, not enervate its powers of endurance and self-government; rarely therefore does he describe the passion as driven to excess, or terminating in guilt and misery. He is the very antipodes of an amatory poet; The depth and not the tumult of the soul is most in unison with his feelings; and to his love-poetry might be applied his own line in Laodemia,' descriptive of the world of spirits— Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains. But admitting that the serenity of his genius somewhat unfits him for describing the early stages of love, or the enthusiasm of youthful lovers, in his delineations of filial, maternal, or conjugal affection, he is unrivalled. It would be injustice to the matchless poems now in our mind's eye to give any patchwork extracts. Let the reader who may happen to be unacquainted with them, turn to the episodes of Margaret' and ' Ellen,' in the first and sixth books of the Excursion; and, amongst the miscellaneous poems, to Laodamia,' The affliction of Margaret,' The Brothers,' and 'Michael.' For the present we must desist-we have far exceeded our limits, and must defer till next month our concluding remarks on this subject. REMEMBER ME. Air.-MOZART. I. REMEMBER me when summer friends surround thee, And honied flatteries win thy willing ear; When Fame, and Fortune glittering wreaths have crowned thee, And all is thine thy fickle heart holds dear. Then think of her whose changeless fondness blessed thee, When hope was dark and faithful friends were few, Who, when hard, griping poverty depressed thee, And all beside seemed cold, was kind and true. 11. Remember me in courtly hall and bower, And when thou kneel'st at some proud beauty's shrine, Ask of the past, if through life's varying hour, Its joys, and griefs, her love can rival mine! And when thy youthful hopes are most excited, Remember me, and oh! when fate hath 'reft thee, Of fame and fortune, friends, and love, and bliss, But no, no, no, I feel that life is waning,— That I am fast on that sweet haven gaining, ̈ V. Remember me! thou canst not sure refuse me As what thou know'st I was REMEMBER ME! THE VILLAGE DISPENSARY. THE hour is come, the Leech is in his chair, It is Dispensary day! The narrow hall Is thronged as was Bethesda's strand of yore, A. A. W. With sufferers of every kind and ailment; Prescient of succour, brooding o'er their woes, And conning how they best may paint their pains. Takes up his pen, turns o'er a book, and studies. Signed by Subscriber, setting forth name, age, 'You have a family-a large one?' 'Yes!' 'And used to labour?' 'Ay, from morn till night.' 'Fond of strong beer, too?' 'Mainly drink three quarts.' 'Marry! I wonder not then at your pains; 'But take you this; an' it stir not your ribs, Why then there is no virtue left in rhubarb. 'Begone! and see me our next public day. Come for the next. Who's here? Eh, damsel Alice, 'And not well yet? No, Sir, my old complaints, Tremblings, heart-burnings, want of sleep at night, 'Failure of appetite, and loss of spirits.' "Turn round your face; why, ay, thou lookest pale; 'Hast thou a sweetheart?' La, Sir!' Nay, confess it.' 'There's Harry.' 'Ay, he keeps your company, Does he not?' 'Yes.' 'Then marry, and be well.' Eh, more! Come, mother, tell me your complaint; ་ 'And leave us to undo what they have done. To act the Leech's part who are his servants. 6 They needs must vend their drugs' and make occasion For their expenditure,-'tis their only gain. Why do not our grave lawgivers ordain These traders to their place ;-their gallipots, "Their drugs, their philtres, and their pharmacy? 'Nor let them traffic thus with life and health, THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. His sword and plume are on his pall,- From warriors' eyes unused to weep, Thrice rolls in thunder o'er his grave. Where sounds of war are heard no more, One mourner o'er its lonely bier, 'Twill steal upon the festal train The voice of reckless mirth to quell ; Can thoughts like these a balm instil,- To lull-to soothe its cureless ill? On days and dreams for ever fled,— But when was sorrow known to woo The themes that make its pangs the less ;- With cold and dull forgetfulness? Because, alas! it flows in vain. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. No, 'twere idle to say that a daughter of heaven In the slumber of Fancy, the spirit reposing, J. M. Might have dreamed that such beauty might be ; As the Persian bends low when the sun-beams arise, T. M. Yet scarce knows what it is that illumines the skies, I knew thee not, lovely one,-knew not thy name,— But I knew that my heart was no longer the same,- I will fancy a name, whose sweet sound shall combine The softness that beams from those loved eyes of thine The essence of music that dwells in thy voice, With that name, too, enwoven should be, And love when 'twas whispered should fondly rejoice, On my spirit the memory dwells of the hour The dew that not solely can brighten the flower, So the soul by the beam of thy loveliness warmed, May not stoop meaner objects to see, But devotes all its thoughts to the image that charmed, THE SENSES. BY MRS. HENRY ROLLS. How lovely in the glowing west Is poured that deep broad golden beam! How soft, at twilight's closing hour, How rich the purple clusters shew, When heighten'd seems the luscious glow, But never hoped to bless again; |