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BY LORD BYRON.

And wilt thou weep when I am low?—
Sweet Lady, speak those words again!
Yet, if they grieve thee, say not so;

I would not give thy bosom pain.
My heart is sad my hopes are gone-
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone a

Wilt sigh above my place of resta And yet, methinks, a beam of peace 20 Doth through my cloud of anguish shine? And, for a while, my sorrows cease.

To know that heart hath felt for mine!. O Lady! blessed be that tear,

It falls for one who cannot weeps Such precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tears may steep. Sweet Lady! once my heart was warm: With every feeling soft as thine; But beauty's self has ceased to charm A wretch-created to repine! Then wilt thou weep when I am low ?Sweet Lady! speak those words again! Yet, if they grieve thee, say not so;

I would not give thy bosom pain!

M.S. POEM OF ROBERT BURNS. The following Verses, in the hand-writing of Burns, are copied from a Bank-note in the possession of a Gentleman at Dumfries. The Note is of the Bank of Scotland, ard dated as far back as the 1st of March, 1780.

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf-
Fell source of a' my woe and grief!-
For lack of thee I've lost my lass;
For lack of thee I shrimp my glass!
I see the children of affliction
Unaided thro' thy curs'd restriction
I've seen th' oppressor's cruel smile
Amid his hapless victims spoil :

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For lack of thee I leave this much lov'd
shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more!
R. B. Kyle's

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Thy bosom is cold as the glittering stream Where dances thy tremulous ray!

Canst thou the sad heart of its sorrow beguile,

Or Grief's fond indulgence suspend? Yet, where is the mourner but welcomes thy smile,

And loves thee-almost as a friend!

The tear that looks bright, in thy beam, as it flows,

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The sorrow that loves in thy light to repose,
Unmox'd dost thou ever behold;
To thee oft in vain hath been told!

Yet soothing thou art, and for ever I fod,
Whilst watching thy gentle retreat,

A moonlight composure steal over my mind,
Poetical-pensive, and sweet!.. 18

I think of the years that for ever have fledOf follies by others forgat ;

Of joys that are vanished-and hopes that are dead;

And of friendships that were and arenot! I think of the future, still gazing the while As tho' thou wouldst those secrets reveal; But ne'er dost thou grant one encouraging smile,

To answer the mournful appeal. 75A Thy beams, which so bright through my casement appear,

To far distant regions extend; Illumine the dwellings of those that are dear, And sleep on the grave of a friend. Then, still must Flove thee, mild Queen of the Night!

Since feeling and fancy agree To make thee a source of unfailing delightA friend, and a solace to me!

SONNET,

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Written in the Church-yard of Runcorn in A Cheshire.

This is a spot to pensive sorrow dear! Where, unobserv'd, she may pour forth her 'plaint *ow **, ils n'SON! Ponder on pleasures past without restraintNo gris oi tød erTAnd breathe the sigh-fools-should- net

overhear!

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Much do I love, alone, to linger here, What time the glow of summer's evening beam

Brightens the landscape round, and

Mersey's stream

Sleeps in the mellow lightSometimes a

tear

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For all the wealth of worlds, that woe's"
luxuriant gem!
A. A. W.

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TO EMILY,

adi escod p On the Author's learning that a Harp Lute Guitar originally a present from him, had fallen almost entirely into disuse. Retouch, sweet friend! retouch the late,

Its tones may turn thy thoughts on me; Let not its chords be longer mute,

Remember 'twas my gift to thee...
Oh! might it yield an answering sound
To each fond wish Emilia shares;
Nor e'er be mute, or tuneless found,
Till I forget her parting tears:
Then would thy life beloved be,
One round of tenderest minstrelsy!

A. A. W.

Mig STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

Oh say not lady, say not so!
My heart is fondly thine;
And if I ever seemed to bow

Before another shrine,

I did but court the Muses' smileI sang but of thy charms the while! Beloved! this tender vow believe, Thou 'rt all the world to me! And if the Minstrel's lay I weave, "Tis but to sing of thee; And if I seek the wreath of fame, 'Tis but to twine with it thy name! Then say not lady, say not so! My heart is fondly thine;" seemed to bow

And

other shrine,

I did but court the Muses smile

I sang but of thy charms the while!

ALARIQUE.

the following energetic apostrophe to his birth-place, the village of Tipperary, in >his poem entitled "The Academic Sports

man.'

And thou, dear village, loveliest of the clime,

Fain would I name thee, but I can't in rhyme!"

A bard there was in sad quandary
To end his rhyme with Tipperary!
Long laboured he through January,
But all in vain for-Tipperary!
Toiled every day in February,
But toiled in vain for-Tipperary!
Exploring Byshe's Dictionary,”
He missed the rhyme for-Tipperary!
Searched Hebrew text, and commentary,
Yet found no rhyme for-Tipperary?
And though of time he was not chary,
'Twas thrown away on Tipperary!
For still the line would run contrary,
Whene'er he turned to -Tipperary!
The stubborn verse he ne'er could vary,
To that unlucky Tipperary!
Strange that a wight so wise and wary,
Could find no rhyme for-Tipperary!
He next implored his mother Mary*
To tell him rhyme for-Tipperary!
But she, good woman, was no fairy,
Nor witch, though born in-Tipperary!
Knew every thing about her dairy,
But not the rhyme for Tipperary!?!
Drawing from thence a corollary ·
That nought would rhyme with-Tippe-
rary!

And of his wild-goose chase most weary,
He vowed to leave out-Tipperary!

THE MOSLEM BRIDAL SONG.

FROM THE ITALIAN.

There is a radiance in the sky, A flush of gold, and purple dye; Night lingers in the west-the sun Floats on the sea. The day's begun. The wave slow swelling to the shore Gleams on the green like silver ore; The grove, the cloud, the mountain's brow, Are burning in the crimson glow: Yet all is silence-till the gale Shakes its rich pinions from the vale.

It is a lovely hour-though Heaven Had ne'er to man his partner given, That thing of beauty, fatal, fair, Bright, fickle child of flame and air;

* His mother Marys Kept a dairy

In Tipperary!

52

Original and Select Poetry.

Yet such an hour, such skies above,
Such earth below, had taught him Love.
But there are sounds along the gale;→-
Not murmurs of the grot or vale-
Yet wild, yet sweet, as ever stole
To soothe their twilight wanderer's soul.
It comes from yonder jasmine bower,
From yonder mosque's enamell'd tower,
From yonder harem's roof of gold,
From yonder castle's haughty hold:
Oh strain of witchery! whoe'er
That heard thee, felt no joy was near?
My soul shall in the grave be dim
Ere it forgets that bridal hymn.
'Twas such a morn, 'twas such a tone
That woke me ;-visions! are you gone?
The flutes breathe nigh-the portals now
Pour out the train, white veiled, like snow
Upon its mountain summit spread,
In splendour beyond man's rude tread!
And o'er their pomp, emerging far
The bride, like morning's virgin star.
And soon along the eve may swim
The chorus of the bridal hymn;
Again the bright processions move
To take the last, sweet veil from Love.
Then speed thee on, thou glorious sun!
Swift rise swift set-be bright and done.
Literary Gazette.

- 10

THE MOSSY SEAT..

The landscape hath not lost its look;
Still rushes on the sparkling river;
Nor hath the gloominess forsook

These granite crags that frown for ever:
Still hangs around the shadowy wood,
Whose sounds but murmur solitude:
The raven's plaint, the linnet's song,
The stock-dove's coo, in grief repining,
In mingled echoes steal along;

The setting sun is brightly shining, And clouds above, and hills below, Are brightening with his golden glow! It is not meet, it is not fit,

Though Fortune all our hopes hath thwarted,

Whilst on the very stone I sit,

Where first we met, and last we parted, That absent from my soul should be The thought that loves and looks to thee! Each happy hour that we have proved,

Whilst love's delicious converse blended; As 'neath the twilight star we roved,

Unconscious where our progress tended, Still brings my mind a sweet relief, And bids it love the " joys of grief!" What soothing recollections throng,

Presenting many a mournful token, That heart's remembrance to prolong, Which then was blest--but now is broken! I cannot--Oh! hast thou forgot Our early loves?-this hallowed spot? I almost think I see thee stand;

I almost dream I hear thee speaking;

I feel the presure of thy hand;

Thy living glance in fondness seeking
Here, all apart by all unseen,
Thy form upon my arm to lean!

[Aug. 1.

Though beauty bless the landscape stillThough woods surround, and waters lave it,

My heart feels not the vivid thrill

Which long ago thy presence gave it: Mirth-music-friendship have no tone Like that which with thy voice hath flown! And memory only now remains

To whisper things that once delighted:
Still, still I love to tread these plains-
To seek this sacred haunt benighted,
And feel a something sadly sweet
In resting on this MOSSY SEAT!

FROM THE SPANISH OF CERVANTES.
Fare thee well, land of my birth!
That spot the most sacred on earth;
At last I have broken the spell

That bound my heart to thee-farewell!'
Away idle sorrows, that wet
My cheek with unbidden regret;
I leave no fond sympathy here
That asks at my parting one tear.
With a love that scarce death could remove
Have I clave to thee, land of my love!
Yet found but such fost'ring and rest
As the babe at its dead mother's breast.
Lift the sail; the lone spirit that braves
The loud going forth of the waves,
Wherever they cast him will find
A country, and bosoms more kind.
Lift the sail; all remembrances sleep
In the rush and the roar of the deep;
As its tide blots the lines which the hand
Of childhood had etched on the sand.
Denied to my chance kindled fire,
The wreath that belongs to the lyre;
Yet my good sword the battle shall join,
And chivalry's garland be mine.

1

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1818.]

Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Dr. Franklin.

"Oh never," she cried, " can I think of en

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53.

So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden

She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove: "Farewell," said the sculptor," you're not the first maiden

Who came but for FRIENDSHIP, and took away LOVE!

MONTHLY REGISTER OF LITERATURE, ART, AND SCIENCE.

NEW PUBLICATIONS, WITH CRITICAL REMARKS.

commerce.

1. Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Benjamin Franklin, LL. D. F. R. S, &c. Published by his Grandson, William Temple Franklin. Vol. III. 4to. This terminates the collection of Dr. Franklin's writings and memoirs, as pub lished from the originals, and having the advantage of his own revision. These writings are properly distributed under four heads. The first part contains those which relate to American politics, before and after the separation of the colonies from Great Britain. Part the second comprises a number of excellent papers on subjects of general policy and Part the third is purely miscellaneous, moral, and entertaining. The last portion comprehends the philosophical disquisitions and experimental observations of this extraordinary man and most sagacious inquirer. Some of the articles in this collection have been frequently printed, and others may be found scattered in old periodical publications; but the editor has acted judiciously in embodying these papers with those which are now for the first time sent into the world. In a former number we gave the author's ideas of a new theory of the earth; and we shall close this announcement with one or two extracts on subjects of general interest. The first shall be from a letter to Dr. Percival, in which the causes of mortality are considered. Speaking of a humid atmosphere, Dr. Franklin says

""Tis a curious remark, that moist seasons are the healthiest. The gentry of England are remarkably afraid of moisture and of air. But seamen, who live perpetually in moist air, are always healthy if they have spod provisions. The inhabitants of Bermuda, St. Helena, and other islands far from continents, surrounded with rocks against which the waves continually dashing, fill the air with spray and vapour, and where no wind can arrive that does not pass over much sea, and of course bring much moisture, these people are remarkably healthy; and I have long thought, that mere moist

It seems

air has no ill effect on the constitution; though air impregnated with vapours from putrid marshes is found pernicious, not from the moisture but the putridity. strange that man, whose body is composed and juices are so watery, who can swallow in great part of moist fluids, whose blood quantities of water and small beer daily, without inconvenience, should fancy that a little more or less moisture in the air should be of such importance. But we abound in absurdity and inconsistency. Thus, though it is generally allowed that taking the air is a good thing, yet what caution against air! what stopping of crevices! what wrapping up in warm clothes! what stuffing of doors and windows, even in the midst of summer! take the air; three or four persons in a Many London families go out once a day to coach, one perhaps sick: these go three or four miles, or as many turns in Hyde Park, with the glasses both up close, all breathing over and over again the the same air they brought out of town with them in the coach, with the least change possible, and rendered worse and worse every moment; and this they call taking the air. From many years observations on myself and others, I am pering moist or cold air the causes of that disorder we call a cold; some unknown quality in the air, may perhaps produce colds, as in the influenza; but generally, I apprehend they are the effect of too full living in proportion to our exercise."

suaded we are on a wrong scent in suppos

From the following hints on the nature of fire, it is evident that this acute experimentalist had correct notions of caloric:

"I have long been of opinion, that it exists every where in the state of a subtle fluid. That too much of that fluid in our flesh, gives us the sensation we call heattoo little, cold-its vibrations, light. That all solid or fluid substances which are inflammable, have been composed of it; their dissolution, in returning to their original fluid state, we call fire. This subtle fluid is attracted by plants and animals in their growth, and consolidated; is attracted by other substances, thermometers, &c. invariably; has a particular affinity with water,

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We have derived much gratification from the perusal of this elegant little volume, and agree with its author, that no subject affords a finer scope to the didactic and descriptive muse, than the praise of woman. Indeed, it will be found upon inquiry, that from the earliest ages to the prescut time, poets have never been considered as duly qualified, until they had exhibited some signs of admiration for the fair sex; and either served, or affected to serve, a probationary term of chivalrous devotion at the shrine of that being,

"Whom nature form'd to temper man.” On this score Mr. Barrett will be found deserving of no small share of commen dation; for he has eulogized poetically, and we have no doubt sincerely, not any one individual Phillis or Chloe of his imagination, but the whole sex in general. Had he failed in his attempt, 'his good intentions would still have entitled him to our approbation; but we shall go far to prove, that the expectations, which the excellence of his subject is capable of creating in the minds of his readers, are, for the most part, fulfilled.

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It would be needless for us to descant in prose upon what the author has so ably treated in energetic and harmonious verse; we shall therefore proceed to an immediate examination of the book. In a modest and well-written preface, Mr. Barrett asserts, that though the fair sex have occasioned many dissertations in English prose, they have never yet found a champion in the more congenial field of English poetry." With this declaration, however, we do not agree: Parnel has a poem on the Rise of Woman; Mr. Southey's first Epic celebrates the wonderful exploits of the Maid of Arc; and one of the most egant of his minor productions is denominated the "Triumphs of Woman." Besides these, many of the most popular authors of all ages, compliment her in various passages of their poems. We copy the following singular verses from the works of Sir Aston Cokayne; which, as they have become exceedingly scarce, may not be deemed unacceptable to our readers:

I wonder why by foul-mouthed men Women so slandered be,

Since it doth easily appear • They're better far than we?

[Aug. 1,

Why are the Graces everyone"
Pictured as women be, Ben de -2
If not to shew that they in grace 100
Do more excel than we? musou e i
Why are the liberal Sciences

Pictured as women be,

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If not to shew, that they in them Do more excel than we? you Why are the Virtues every one Pictured as women be,

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