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The Voice of Memory.

HOW canst thou move my fixed regret, Or how allure me to forget, When there is nought in earth, sea, sky, But hath a voice to Memory? What speaks the sinking orb of day?Of hope as quick to pass away! What speaks the pale and drooping flower Of joy, that withers in an hour ! What speaks the balmy breath of eve ! Of sighs as sweet, that could deceive ! What speaks the music of the bird ?Of strains more soft, no longer heard ! What speaks still ocean's glassy breast ? Of peace as brief, as false a rest ! What speaks each wave that leaves the shore Of days that pass, to come no more ! What speaks the far receding sail ! Of faithless fortune's changing gale ! What speaks the pure and pendant dew?Of tears as fresh, as silent too ! What speaks the deepening gloom of night Of woe, succeeding to delight! What speaks each brightly-twinkling star ?Of eyes more soft-more radiant far ! What speaks the blue expanse of Heaven ? Of plighted vows in sunder riven, Recorded there—though here forgiven ! Thus is there nought in earth, sea, sky, But hath a voice to Memory !

A voice that will be heard, as now,
Till o'er this eye and aching brow,
His welcome shadow Death shall cast,
And this fond heart has throbbed its last !


Scenes of My Childhood.

SCENES of my childhood ! once more I behold ye,
'Mid the green, waving lindens that graced ye of yore ;
Friends of rny childhood ! once more I enfold ye,
What would my gloom-boding spirit have more ?

Scenes of my childhood ! in sadness I greet ye,

your freshness and bloom youth's gay season restore ?Friends of my childhood ! in sorrow I meet ye, For a welcome is wanting can glad me no more !

Scenes of my childhood ! the breath of your flowers,
Is loaded with memories too painful for bliss ;
Friends of my childhood ! there's gloom in your bowers ;
Oh ! where are the bright, beaming glances I miss ?

Scenes of my childhood ! let strangers possess ye ;
Can ye witness again what ye witnessed of yore ?
Friends of my childhood ! in vain ye caress me,
For the kiss that was sweetest, can charm me no more !


The Bee and the Fly.-A Fable.

'TWAS at the sultry hour of noon,
The hottest day in June,
A Fly who sate upon a peach,
Felt much inclined to make a speech.

He was a highly gifted Fly,
With polished wings and killing eye,
And would disdain to buz and bore,
Like Cand H- and twenty more.
Whilst thus he basked in scornful ease,
He saw a Bee among


Filling his arms and thighs with honey,
As Rothschild fills his bags with money.
Fly marked the insect as he toil'd ;

My poor friend Hum, you'll sure be broil'd,”
Politely sneering be began,
- This is a day when bee and man
Should leave alike their painful task,
And be content to burn and bask.
You fret all day to carry home
A little wax to build your comb,
Whilst I, who love the sweet far-miente,
Enjoy myself in peace and plenty.
Here sit 1 basking in the sun,
Until I'm roasted, over-done ;
And then, retiring to the shade,
Flirt with some microscopic maid :
Or when I'm hungry, here at hand
Lies all the fatness of the land.

Then pray, friend Hum, leave off your labour,
And be a more amusing neighbour ;
With Mister Wasp and Mistress Grubber,
We'll see if we can make a rubber."

The Bee heard well the whole discourse,
But thinking it had no great force,
Or wishing time and toil to save,
Continued silently to slave.

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Beneath the Fly there lay exposed,
With luscious lips and mouth unclosed,
A phial full of sweets—a bribe,
Fatal to flies and all their tribe,
He, as an alderman will stoop,
To his first plate of turtle-soup,
Bent down with his elastic trunk,
Which soon in sugary ocean sunk :-
At length, well gorged with luscious drink,
He sought again to reach the brink,
But lo! his legs had lost their spring,
The nectareous gum weighs down his wing ;
His limbs, all glued, together cling;
He flounders, pauses, labours, tires,
Sinks deep-sinks deeper-and expires.

'Twas then the Bee, with look sedate,
Spoke like a judge upon his fate :
" Poor flutt'ring thing ! such is the measure
Dealt out to those who live for pleasure !
Awhile in Fortune's sun they bask,
And pity labour's humble task ;
But brief their joy ; too soon elated,
Too quickly pleased, too quickly sated ;

When gorged with joys, or wise with age,
They seek their limbs to disengage,
Indulgence weakens all their powers ;
In useless struggles pass the hours ;
They waste in premature decay,
And unregretted pass away,
While we who still pursue the cause
Of nature's bidding, virtue's laws,
When we have worked from norn to night,
Review past moments with delight;
Health nerves our limbs, and sweetens rest,
And all our pleasures keep their zest !”



BEHOLD glad Nature's triumph ! the sun

Hath burst the pall of night, and o'er the earth Reviving radiance scattered. Sleep hath done

Her death resembling reign—and thoughts have birth That fill the grateful heart with sacred mirth!

For now the spells of waking bliss abound, And mortals own the glory and the worth Of that bright boon, existence--all around Unnumbered blessings rise in every sight and sound !

The scene is steeped in beauty-and my soul

No longer lingering in the shroud of ease,
Doth greet creation's smile. The grey clouds roll

E’en from the mountains' peaks, and melt in air.
The landscape looks an Eden ! Who could wear

The hues of sorrow now? This glorious hour

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