OF THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
What whispers soft are these that play
Along the solemn wind of heaven?
Weep not, they gently seem to say,
As those to whom no hope is given—
Think rather on that glorious day,
Which soon for those we love shall rise, When our blest Lord, 'mid glowing skies, His ransom'd saints shall with Him bring, Ever with Him to dwell through heaven's eternal
IN Afric's realm, where groves of palm-trees rise,
View the grim Lion of gigantic size,
As with majestic mien and measur❜d pace,
And conscious power imprinted on his face,
He slowly moves, then rolls his eye-balls round,
While with his thund'ring roar the hollow caves
resound.
Anon in some rude brake he couching lies,
Watchful to make the tim'rous hind his prize.
Ah! what avails her fear, or hasty flight,
Her limbs so agile, or her steps so light?
From his close ambush darts the angry beast;
Intent with rav'nous hunger on the feast,
His unsheath'd claws he plunges in her heart!
The helpless victim feels the piercing smart,
She writhes convulsive with the fatal wound,
And with her blood ensanguines all the ground.
The savage victor triumphs o'er his prey,
Then bears it reeking to his cave away.
illustrating the popular superstition that the splendour of the fairies is only delusive show; and that this is known to themselves by means of a magic ointment which they use, but spectators are deceived.
"And gaily shines the fairy land,
But all is glist'ning show,
Like the idle gleam that December's beam
Can dart on ice and snow."-ALICE BRAND.
Who loves to hear of airy sprights
That sport on Summer's balmy nights
The haunted glades among,
As light they dance their jocund round,
And make the magic air resound
With revel, and with song,
Attend my tale; but stay behind
All ye who bear a doubting mind,
I do not rhyme for you:
Strange! when the signs so oft are seen
Where they the eve before have been,
Tracing “quaint mazes on the green","
To hold the creed untrue!
"The quaint mazes on the wanton green."
Ne'er have ye tried the fern-seed's powerd,
Nor would ye at the midnight hour
Your pleasing sleep forego,
To seek the forest's glimm'ring shade;
Though all must own their toil repaid
Who view the elfin show.
The sun had clos'd the summer day,
But still a pale uncertain ray
Linger'd behind the hill:
A fresher breeze began to rise,
And now along the woods it dies;
'Tis gone-and all is still!
Far 'mid the forest's deep'ning shade
Alone in musing mood I stray'd,
And heedless wander'd on,
Till night's dark pall had veil'd the wood,
Save, where upon the sparkling flood,
The yellow moonlight shone.
It chequer❜d many an alley green;
In broader light the lawn was seen;
But, where with giant sweep
"We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible."
Some oak his knotted branches threw,
There the wild scene was hid from view
In shadows dark and deep.
Sudden a sound came on the wind,
Uncertain, such as dreamers find,
That wakes both joy and fear;
A soft, a wild, a minor strain-
I ne'er shall hear its like again,
Unless on fancy's ear,
When, in the whispering of leaves,
Or in the dashing wave that heaves
Upon the sounding shore,
Soft notes and airy voices ring,
And seem to wake on mem'ry's string
A tone once heard before.
Now, as in air, the music floats,
Shrill voices mingle with the notes,
Light footsteps touch the green,
And dancing up the shadowy glen
A band of elfin maids and men
In bright array were seen!
So quick their step, so light, so true,
The shining drops of crystal dew
Scarce trembled 'neath their tread;
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