A COUNTRY WEDDING. OH! there is music in the bells, From yonder noisy steeple pealing, That sweetly o'er the spirit swells, And wakes the deepest chords of feeling! It is not that this twilight hour Blends softly with their melting one; Theirs is a deeper, holier power, Whose echo's in the heart alone. There's music in that merry voice- It is not that those sounds proclaim But oh! they bear a mightier charm There's an o'erflowing tide of gladness, Who recks amid a life like this, Of future grief, or toil, or pain? To-morrow shall dissolve the bliss, And care and reason wake again. And may it be that yonder chime, That death those hearts has disunited? It may be but away, away! Forebodings dark, and dreams of sorrow; And reason's voice be heard to-morrow. I would not, with most sage advice, SONNET, TO AILSA ROCK. BY JOHN KEATS. HEARKEN, thou craggy ocean pyramid! Give answer from thy voice, the sea fowls' screams, Thou answerest not, for thou art dead asleep; The last in air, the former in the deep, First with the whales, last with the eagle skies ;— Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,-Another cannot bow thy giant size. TO A GIRL THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE. THY smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays, So beautiful approve thee, So winning, light, are all thy ways, I cannot choose but love thee: As o'er my cheek thou leanest now Thy steps are dancing toward the bound And youth shall pass, with all the brood And care shall come with womanhood, Thou'll learn to toil, and watch, and weep, Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep Nay, say not so! nor cloud the sun The freshling of creation! Nor doubt that HE, who now doth feed Her early lamp with gladness, Will be her present help in need, Her comforter in sadness. Smile on, then, little winsome thing, W. LOVE. BY R. SOUTHEY, ESQ. THEY sin who tell us love can die;→ In heaven ambition cannot dwell, They perish when they have their birth; Its holy flame for ever burneth,— From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; Too oft on earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest; It here is tried and purified, And hath in heaven its perfect rest; Hath she not then, for pains and fears, TO A SISTER. BY W. READ, ESQ. THE Soft gale of summer, though past, And to me thou art now as a star, And my spirit full oft when it turns It hath found but One like thee beside. I may err-and have erred,-for a mind But oh! when most wild or most weak, I once sighed for the wreath that is wove I once hoped the proud laurel should bloom, And I thought round this rude harp of mine, |