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Had charactered her countenance, still gleamed
On her wan features-when such playful words,
As once could scatter gladness on all hearts,
Still trembled from the lip, and o'er the souls
Of those who listened shed a deeper gloom.→
In hours of such most mournful gaiety,
Oh! was there not even then a lingering hope,
That flitted fearfully, like parent birds

Fast fluttering o'er their desolate nest?

Mourn not for her who died!-She lived, as saints
Might pray to live-she died as Christians die ;-
There was no earthward struggle of the heart,
No shuddering terror— no reluctant sigh.—
They who beheld her dying, fear not Death!
Silently silently the Spoiler came,

As sleep steals o'er the senses, unperceived,

And the last thoughts that soothed the waking soul Mingle with our sweet dreams.-Mourn not for her! Blackwood's Magazine.

THE MICHAELMAS DAISY.

LAST Smile of the departing year,

Thy sister sweets are flown;

Thy pensive wreath is far more dear,

For blooming thus alone.

Thy tender blush, thy simple frame,
Unnoticed might have passed;

But now thou com'st with softer claim,
The loveliest and the last!

Sweet are the charms in thee we find,
Emblem of hope's gay wing;

"T is thine to call past bloom to mind,
To promise future spring.

BY ARTHUR BROOKE, ESQ.

He sleeps in peace at last,
The storm of being o'er;
Life's hateful struggle past,

He rests to rise no more;
And could the ceaseless round of Fate,
Reviving things inanimate,

The breath he scorned, restore,

He'd curse the wayward fate that hurled Him back upon this worthless world!

Affliction's early chill

His best emotions froze,
She in the grave was still,

Who lightened half his woes;

In friends, to whom his heart was bared, And every inmost feeling shared,

He met his deadliest foes.

What though he joined the ways of menThose wounds could never close again!

With fevered hand he caught

At Joy's bewildering bowl,
As if the demon Thought

That preyed upon his soul,
Steeped in the rich Lethean draught,
Through midnight hours of riot quaffed,
Its scorpions would controul;

Still, still the fruitless cup was drained—
While life was there that pang remained.

The brightest shapes of love
Reclined upon his breast;

To banish one he strove,

In dalliance with the rest;

But 't was in vain—with heart unmoved,

Through all the paths of bliss he rovedA melancholy jest!

There Pleasure smiled, and Beauty shone,
A ghastly, gazing man of stone.

His spirit darker grew ;

He loathed the light of heaven;
The impious blade he drew-

That stroke-his heart is riven !
In sooth, it was a deed of fear,
Yet think on what he suffered here;
And hope his faults forgiven;
Though o'er his cold and lonely bed
No sigh was breathed, no tear was shed.

STANZAS.

BY W. S. WALKER, ESQ.

THOU hast left us, dearest Spirit! and left us all alone,

But thou thyself to glory and liberty art flown;

And the song that tells thy virtues, and mourns thy early doom, Should be gentle as thy happy death, and peaceful as thy tomb.

Thy place no longer knows thee beside the household hearth,
We miss thee in our hour of woe, we miss thee in our mirth;
But the thought that thou wert one of us that thou hast borne

our name,

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Is more than we would part with, for fortune or for fame.

Thy dying gift of love-'t was a light and slender token,

And thy parting words of comfort, were few and faintly spoken; But memory must forsake us, and life itself decay,

Ere those gifts shall lie forgotten, or those accents pass away.

Farewell, our best and fairest! a long, a proud farewell!

May those who love thee follow, to the place where thou dost dwell

Like the lovely star that led from far the wanderers to their God, May'st thou guide us in the pathway which thy feet in beauty

trod.

The Etonian.

BY DELTA.

'Tis midnight deep; the full, round moon,
As 't were a spectre, walks the sky;
The balmy breath of gentlest June
Just stirs the stream that murmurs by:
Above me frowns the solemn wood;
Nature, methinks, seems Solitude
Embodied to the eye.

Yes, 't is a season and a scene,
Inez, to think on thee: the day,

With stir and strife, may come between
Affection, and thy beauty's ray;
But feeling here assumes controul,
And mourns my desolated soul
That thou art rapt away!

Thou wert a rainbow to my sight,
The storms of life before thee fled;
The glory and the guiding light,
That onward cheered, and upward led ;
From boyhood to this very hour,

For me, and only me, thy flower
Its fragrance seemed to shed.

Dark though the world for me might shew
Its sordid faith, and selfish gloom,
Yet, 'mid life's wilderness, to know
For me that sweet flower shed its bloom,
Was joy, was solace,-thou art gone—
And hope forsook me, when the stone
Sank darkly o'er thy tomb.

And art thou dead? I dare not think
That thus the solemn truth can be ;

And broken is the only link

That chained youth's pleasant thoughts to me! Alas! that thou couldst know decay

That, sighing, I should live to say, "The cold grave holdeth thee!”

For me thou shon'st, as shines a star,
Lonely, in clouds when heaven is lost;
Thou wert my guiding light afar,
When on Misfortune's billows tost:
Now darkness hath obscured that light,
And I am left, in rayless night,

On Sorrow's lowering coast.

And art thou gone? I deemed thee some
Immortal essence,-thou art gone!-
I saw thee laid within the tomb,
And I am left to mourn alone:

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Enough; and what with thee I proved,
Again I'll seek in none.

ད།

Earth in thy sight was Faëry land ;-
Life was Elysium-thought was love,—
When, long ago, hand clasped in hand,
We roamed through Autumn's twilight grove;
Or watched the broad, uprising moon
Shed, as it were, a wizard noon,
The blasted heath above.

Farewell!-and must I say, farewell?—
No-thou wilt ever be to me

A present thought; thy form shall dwell
In love's most holy sanctuary;

Thy voice shall mingle with my dreams,
And haunt me, when the shot-star gleams
Above the rippling sea.

Never revives the past again;

But thou shalt be, in lonely hours,

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