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Your papa may look out for a horse,

And consult ma-I must not pay dear; He will think it no trouble, of course, Remembering for what you send here.

ANON.

TO HIS GUARDIAN ANGEL.
SWEET angel of my natal hour!
Thou, to whose tutelary power

My infant days were given!
My bosom friend! companion dear!
For ever kind, for ever near,

While such the will of Heaven!

By thee inspired, the livelong day
Rollid lightly on in peace and play,

Calm slumbers crown'd the night;
By thee and simple nature drawn,
Ere reason spread her glimmering dawn,

I sought and found delight.

'Twas thou, whene'er I ranged the mead,
That drew me from the poisonous weed

Of tempting purple dye;
That drew me from the fatal brake,
Where, coil'd in speckled pride, the snake

Allured my longing eye.
Ah, why so soon to reason's hand
Didst thou resign the imperial wand,

Why yield the ruling rein ?
With thee are all my comforts fled,
And woes on endless woes succeed,

A dire and gloomy train!
Can Zephyr hush the surging seas,
Or whisper silence in a breeze,

When Boreas sweeps the flood ? Can the soft virgin's voice restrain The midnight howlings of the plain,

When lions roar for food ?

So weak is reason to control,
Or soothe the tempests of the soul

When torn by passions wild; .
Though soft the sound as zephyr's wing,
That whispers tidings of the spring,

As voice of virgin mild.

Come then, resume thy guardian power,
Sweet angel of my natal hour,

To whom the charge was given!
Once more receive me to thy care,
For ever kind, for ever near,
If such the will of Heaven!

Rev. MR. HOYLAND.

TO MY HARP.

Oh, my loved harp! companion dear!

Sweet soother of my secret grief,
No more thy sounds my soul must cheer,

No more afford a soft relief.

When anxious cares my heart oppress’d,

When doubts distracting tore my soul, The pains which heaved my swelling breast

Thy gentle sway could oft control.

Each well-remember'd practised strain,

The cheerful dance, the tender song, Recall’d, with pensive, pleasing pain,

Some image loved and cherish'd long.

When joy sat smiling o'er my fate,

And mark'd each bright and happy day, When partial friends around me sate,

And taught my lips the simple lay: And when, by disappointment grieved,

I saw some darling hope o'erthrown, Thou hast my secret pain relieved ;

O'er thee I wept, unseen, alone. Oh! must I leave thee, must we part,

Dear partner of my happiest days? I may forget thy much-loved art,

Unused thy melody to raise ;

But ne'er can memory cease to love

Those scenes where I thy charms have felt, Though I no more thy power may prove, Which taught my soften'd heart to melt.

Forced to forego with thee this spot,

Endear'd by many a tender tie, When rosy pleasure bless'd my lot,

And sparkled in my cheated eye; Yet still thy strings, in fancy's ear,

With soothing melody shall play; Thy silver sounds I oft shall hear, To pensive gloom a silent prey.

MRS. HENRY TIGHE

FUNERAL HYMN. O BEAUTIFUL the streams

That through our valleys run, Singing and dancing in the gleams

Of summer's cloudless sun!

The sweetest of them all

From its fairy banks is gone; And the music of the waterfall

Hath left the silent stone!

Up among the mountains

In soft and mossy cell,
By the silent springs and fountains

The happy wild flowers dwell.
The queen-rose of the wilderness

Hath wither'd in the wind,
And the shepherds see no loveliness

In the blossoms left behind.

Birds cheer our lonely groves

With many a beauteous wing; When happy in their harmless loves

How tenderly they sing ! O'er all the rest was heard

One wild and mournful strain, But hush'd is the voice of that hymning bird,

She ne'er must sing again!
Bright through the yew-tree's gloom

I saw a sleeping dove!
On the silence of her silvery plume

The sunlight lay in love:
The grove seem'd all her own

Round the beauty of that breast, But the startled dove afar is flown!

Forsaken is her nest!

In yonder forest wide

Å flock of wild deer lies,
Beauty breathes o'er each tender side,

And shades their peaceful eyes!
The hunter in the night

Hath singled out the doe, In whose light the mountain flock lay bright,

Whose hue was like the snow!

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A thousand stars shine forth

With pure and dewy ray,
Till by night the mountains of our north

Seem gladdening in the day.
O empty all the heaven!

Though a thousand lights be there,
For clouds o'er the evening star are driven,

And shorn her golden hair!

What! though the stream be dead,

Its banks all still and dry!
It murmureth now o'er a lovelier bed

In the air groves of the sky.
What! though our prayers from death

The queen-rose might not save!
With brighter bloom and balmier breath

She springeth from the grave.

What! though our bird of light

Lie mute with plumage dim!
In heaven I see her glancing bright

I hear her angel hymn.
• What! though the dark tree smile

No more with our dove's calm sleep,
She folds her wing on a sunny isle

In heaven's untroubled deep!

True that our beauteous doe

Hath left her still retreat-
But purer now in heavenly snow

She lies at Jesus' feet.
O star! untimely set,

Why should we weep for thee!
The bright and dewy coronet
Is rising o'er the sea!

PROFESSOR WILSON.

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