LINES, WRITTEN BENEATH A BUST OF SHAKSPEARE. BY HENRY NEELE, ESQ. His was the master-spirit;-at his spells The heart gave up its secrets ;-like the mount Of Horeb, smitten by the Prophet's rod, Its hidden springs gushed forth. Time, that grey rock On whose bleak sides the fame of meaner bards Is dashed to ruin, was the pedestal On which his genius rose; and, rooted there, His 'dainty spirit,' while it soared above This dull, gross compound, scattered as it flew And these Were 'gentle Shakspeare's' features! This the eye Where lofty thought majestically brooded, Seated as on a throne! And these the lips *In some parts of America, it is said, there are birds which, when on the wing, at night, emit so surprising a brightness, that it is no mean substitute for the light of day. Among the whimsical speculations on Fontenelle, is one, that in the Planet Mars, the want of moon may be compensated by a multiplicity of these luminary aeronauts. That warbled music stolen from heaven's own choir On wings that melt before the blaze they worship. Literary Gazette. SONNET. BY CHARLES LAMB, ESQ. THEY talk of time, and of time's galling yoke, London Magazine. THE DAISY IN INDIA. Supposed to be addressed by the Rev. Dr. Carey, the learned and illustrious Baptist Missionary at Serampore, to the first plant of this kind, which sprang up, unexpectedly, in his garden, out of some English earth, in which other seeds had been conveyed to him from this country. The subject was suggested by reading a letter from Dr. Carey to a botanical friend in England. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ. THRICE Welcome! little English Flower! Never to me such beauty spread! Thrice welcome little English Flower! Thrice welcome, little English Flower! Like worth unfriended or unknown, Thrice welcome, little English Flower! While happy in my father's bower, Thou shalt the blithe memorial be! The fairy sports of infancy, Youth's golden age, and manhood's prime, Home, country, kindred, friends,-with thee Are mine in this far clime. Thrice welcome, little English Flower! The sweet May-dews of that fair land, Thrice welcome, little English Flower! London Magazine. SILENT LOVE. OH, I could whisper thee a tale But what would idle words avail Unless the heart might speak its love! To tell that tale my pen were weak ;— W. THE CROSS OF THE SOUTH. BY MRS. HEMANS. • The pleasure we felt on discovering the Southern Cross, was warmly shared by such of the crew as had lived in the colonies. In the solitude of the seas, we hail a star, as a friend from whom we have been long separated. Among the Portuguese and Spaniards, peculiar motives seem to increase this feeling; a religious sentiment attaches them to a constellation, the form of which recalls the sign of the faith planted by their ancestors in the deserts of the new world. The two great stars which mark the summit and the foot of the cross, having nearly the same right ascension, it follows hence, that the constellation is almost perpendicular, at the moment when it passes the meridian. This circumstance is known to every nation that lives beyond the tropics, or in the southern hemisphere. It has been observed at what hour of the night, in different seasons, the cross of the south is erect or inclined. It is a time-piece that advances very regularly nearly four minutes a day, and no other group of stars exhibits, to the naked eye, an observation of time so easily made. How often have we heard our guides exclaim in the savannas of Venezuela, or in the desert extending from Lima to Truxillo, midnight is past, the cross begins to bend'.' DE HUMBOLDT'S TRAVELS. In the silence and grandeur of midnight I tread, The Fern-tree waves o'er me; the fire-fly's red light, But to thee, as thy lode-stars resplendently burn, Thou recallest the ages when first o'er the main, |