We've wandered on in sunny weather,

When winds were low, and flowers in bloom, And hand in hand have kept together,

And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom, Endeared by ties we could not know

When life was young,-ten years ago!

Has fortune frowned? Her frowns were vain!

For hearts like ours she could not chill.

Have friends proved false? Their love might wane!
But ours grew fonder, firmer, still.

Twin barks on this world's changing wave,

Stedfast in calms-in tempests tried

In concert still our fate we'll brave;
Together cleave life's fitful tide,
Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams-ten years ago!

Have we not knelt beside his bed,

And watched our first-born blossom die? Hoped till the shade of hope had fled, Then wept till feeling's fount was dry? Was it not sweet, in that dark hour

To think-mid mutual tears and sighsOur bud had left its earthly bower

And burst to bloom in Paradise?

What to the thought that soothed that woe
Were heartless joys ten years ago?

Yes, it is sweet, when Heaven is bright,
To share its sunny beams with thee!
But sweeter far, 'mid clouds and blight,
To have thee near to weep with me.

Then dry those tears though something changed
From what we were in earlier youth,

Time that hath friends and hopes estranged,
Hath left us love in all its truth ;-
Sweet feelings we would not forego
For life's best joys ten years ago!
February 3, 1824.

N

A. A. W.

LINES

SENT WITH AN HOUR GLASS TO A LADY ON NEW

YEAR'S DAY.

YES all things fade away

That the soul cherishes and seeks on earth;—
Fair flowers! that do but bloom their summer's day,
And are forgot their being and their birth.

Youth hath its favoured hour,

Of fancies, and high hopes, and dazzling dreams ;
It flies and with it all the glittering dower
That to young bosoms the securest seems!

And Manhood's hour comes next,

Fevered and filled with the world's active thought; Schemes, and ambitions ;―till the spirit vexed,— Finds that its hour hath fled-and left it nought!

Shortest and last is thine,

Wasted in vain regrets and memories-Age!
For while thy retrospects too brightly shine,
The sand ebbs out-so doth thy pilgrimage!

Thus pleasure hath its hour!

And grief, and pain, and peril have no more;
Hatred, and love, but the same transient power,
Time but remains-ruling as heretofore!

On-conqueror of the earth!

And fold not yet thy world-destroying wing!
Still reign-while scattering man's work and worth,
Omnipotent! o'er each created thing!

Thy end will come, Oh Time!

When thou, a conqueror shalt conquered be;
Thyself, thy victories, and thy power sublime,

No more remembered-in Eternity!

Leeds Intelligencer.

M. J. J.

THE COVENANTER'S HEATHER-BED.

This poem, suggested by the picture representing the Temptation of St Anthony, by Teniers, exemplifies the different aspect which the same subject and situation would assume when clothed in the images supplied by Scottish Puritanism.

A STORMY night and dark, had closed a gloomy day,
And couched upon the heath a Covenanter lay;

His feet were tired and damp, with the clays of many a hill,
And in his sleeping ear the wind was roaring still;

When the powers of darkness thronged with persevering spite, To tempt his weary soul mid the visions of the night.

And first a black one came, and said, with scornful eye,
Come, Jonathan, get up, and your merits let us try;
If you be strong in faith, here take me by the hand,
Pull up while I draw down,-we'll see who best can stand;—
When flames break out beneath us, and yawning earth is riven,
"Twill then be brought to proof what hold you have on heaven.

"You boldly walk by day, while sunshine warms the ground; The breeze cheers up your heart, and the wild bee hums around But when our dark hour comes, your songs and vaunts decrease And, trusting to your works, you fain would sleep in peace;― But if in works you trust, I have witnesses behind,

Who can speak of former deeds, and recall them to your mind.'

And then straightway the fiend for another fiend made room,
Who carried in his hand a sprig of yellow broom,
And said, "This broom was cut in that glen of gowans fine,
Where you were wont in youth to drive a herd of kine;
For its crystal brook you deemed that glen beyond compare,
But more for a blue-eyed girl, who also herded there.

• When with her you would sit, one plaid encircled both,
You called yourself her true love to her you pledged your troth;
But when you grew a man, and was master of some sheep,
And saw some farmers' daughters, you left her there to weep;

'Twas sunset in the world around;-
And, looking inwards, so I found
"Twas sun-set in the soul;

Nor grief, nor mirth, were burning there,
But musings sweet, and visions fair,
In placid beauty stole.

But moods like these, the human mind,
Though seeking oft, may seldom find,
Or, finding, force to stay ;-
As dews upon the drooping flower,
That having shone their little hour,
Dry up-or fall away.

But though all pleasures take their flight,
Yet some will leave memorials bright
For many an after year;

This sunset, that dull night will shade,—
These visions, which must quickly fade,
Will half-immortal memory braid

For me, when far from here!
Literary Gazette.

M. J. J.

IMPROMPTU

TO LADY HOLLAND ON NAPOLEON'S LEGACY OF A SNUFF BOX.

BY THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.

GIFT of the Hero, on his dying day,

To her, whose pity watched, for ever nigh; Oh! could he see the proud, the happy ray, This relic lights up on her generous eye, Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay

A friendship all his kingdoms could not buy.

Animula vagula, blandula,
Hospes, comnesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in locâ?

O THOU wondrous arch of azure,
Sun, and starry plains immense !
Glories that astound the gazer

By their dread magnificence!—
O thou ocean, whose commotion
Awes the proudest to devotion,
Must I must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu-and die !—

O ye keen and gusty mountains,
On whose tops I braved the sky!
O ye music-pouring fountains,

On whose marge I loved to lie!
O ye posies,-lilies, roses,

All the charms that earth discloses,
Must I must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu-and die!

O ye birds, whose matin chorus
Taught me to rejoice and bless!
And ye beasts, whose voice sonorous

Swelled the hymn of thankfulness;
Learned leisure, and the pleasure,
Of the muse, my dearest treasure,
Must I must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu-and die!

O domestic ties endearing,

Which still chain my soul to earth! O ye friends, whose converse cheering Winged the hours with social mirth! Songs of gladness, chasing sadness, Wine's delight without its madness, Must I must I from ye fly,

.

Bid ye

all adieu-and die!