To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, Ah! here is a plentiful board! But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah, no! They have withered and died, Friends, brothers and sisters, are laid side by side, Unto Sorrow?-The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Which Compassion itself could relieve. Ah sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope, or fear, Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? And here there are trophies enow! Beneath the cold head, and around the dark stone, The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfilled; And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. Carlisle's Grammar Schools. EPITAPH ON AN IDEOT GIRL. Ir the innocent are favourites of Heaven ;- THE MOSSY SEAT. BY J. MOIR, ESQ. THE landscape hath not lost its look; These granite crags, that frown for ever; In mingled echoes steal along; The setting sun is brightly shining, And clouds above, and hills below, Are burning in his golden glow! It is not meet-it is not fit Though fortune all our hopes hath thwarted, Whilst on the very stone I sit, Where first we met, and last we parted, While love's delicious converse blended, What soothing recollections throng, I cannot-Oh! hast thou forgot Our early loves this hallowed spot? I almost think I see thee stand!— I almost dream I hear thee speaking!— I feel the pressure of thy hand! Thy living glance in fondness seeking,— Here, all apart-by all unseen— Thy form upon my arm to lean! Though beauty bless the landscape still, Though woods surround, and waters lave it, To whisper things that once delighted; Blackwood's Magazine. SONNET. BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, ESQ. Nor love, nor war, nor the tumultuous swell A FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. BY JOSEPH RITCHIE, ESQ. THY chalky cliffs are fading from my view, I sigh while yet I may, and say adieu, I never dreamt of beauty, but, behold, I turned to those whom thou hast called thine own, Who fill the spacious earth with their and thy renown. When my young heart, in life's gay morning hour, Her voice came to me from an English bower, And English were the smiles that wrought the charm; The fabric of my hopes on thee hath still been reared. Peace to thy smiling hearths, when I am gone; Like a tall watch-tower flashing o'er the deep;— Still mayest thou bid the sorrowers cease to weep, That wraps a slumbering world, till, from their sleep And earth be blest beneath the buckler of thy might. Strong in thy strength I go, and wheresoe'er My steps may wander, may I ne'er forget All that I owe to thee; and O may ne'er My frailties tempt me to abjure that debt! And what, if far from thee my star must set, Hast thou not hearts that shall with sadness hear The tale, and some fair cheeks that shall be wet, And some bright eyes, in which the swelling tear Shall start for him who sleeps in Afric's desarts drear. Yet I will not profane a charge like mine, I trust its promise, that I go to weave A wreath of palms, entwined with many a sweet Perennial flower, which time shall not bereave Of all its fragrance,—that I yet shall greet Once more the ocean queen, and throw it at her feet. London Magazine. THE EXCHANGE. BY S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. WE pledged our hearts, my love and I,- I could not tell the reason why, Her father's love she bade me gain; |