He leads to the close of our course, "Twere in vain to entreat for a moment of grace, The years will as little their footsteps retrace,

As rivers run back to their source.

The Spring, clothed with light and with verdure and bloom,

Shall quickly again chase the frost and the gloom;
The sea has its ebb and its rise;

But when that at length rosy youth quits the stage,
And his empire resigns to the sceptre of age,
For ever, for ever he flies!

The laws of stern Death seize resistless on all!
Alike on the sovereign's palace they fall,

And the reed-cover'd hut of the swain.

The Fates, when they please, destine man to the grave,

And the thread of existence in monarch and slave By the same steel they sever in twain.

By their tyrannous power nought on earth is revered,

It strikes, and the things that eternal appear'd Like the visions of slumberers sink:

By that power, dear Menard, we too soon shall be led,

In the regions of darkness and silence to tread, And the stream of oblivion to drink.

R. A. DAVENPORT.

TO A LADY.

FROM THE FRENCH OF DESPORTES.

CURL those auburn locks with care,
That shade thy forehead smooth and fair;
With humble glance my glances seek;
In tones of magic sweetness speak;
Breathe full oft deceitful sighs;
Raise to heaven thine azure eyes;
Weep; and exhaust thy power to feign;
Thy wiles and hopes will all be vain!
Never more, to thee returning,
Shall my heart with love be burning!
So many groans of sad lament,
So many days in anguish spent,
So many nights of sleepless woe,
Thy fatal beauty made me know,
That ne'er again thy spells shall blind me,
Ne'er again thy fetters bind me:

For I, at length, have learn'd to borrow
Wisdom from my former sorrow!
O wretched he! whose captive soul
Owns a faithless fair's control;

And, while she mocks his fond believing,
Trusts her words and oaths deceiving!
Then cease, thou false one, cease to strive
My buried passion to revive!

If ever thy seductive art

To bondage lure again my heart,
Let the hard destiny be mine
Unpitied and unheard to pine:
For he who twice to folly swerves,
No pardon for his fault deserves.

R. A. DAVENPORT.

THE ABBE L'ATTAIGNANT'S FAREWELL.

FROM THE FRENCH.

SOON eighty years shall I have told,
Methinks, now I'm become thus old,
"Tis time this life to slight:
I quit it, then, devoid of care,
And gaily to depart prepare:

Good night, my friends, good night!
All earthly pleasures have I known;
Now, even desire itself is flown:
I'm tired and languid quite.
He who scarce keeps himself awake,
Is wise his parting bow to make.
Good night, my friends, good night!
Whene'er my spirit quits its cell,
What lot awaits I cannot tell;
But Heaven will judge aright:

And, since what Heaven decrees is best,
No doubts, no fears disturb my rest:
Good night, my friends, good night!

R. A. DAVENPORT.

SONG.

FROM THE FRENCH.

"АH! say," the fair Louisa cried,

"Say where the abode of Love is found? Pervading nature, I replied,

His influence spreads the world around.
When Morning's arrowy beams arise
He sparkles in the' enlivening ray,
And blushes in the glowing skies
When rosy Evening fades away.

The summer winds that gently blow,
The flocks that bleat along the glades,
The nightingale, that soft and low
With music fills the listening shades,
The murmurs of the silver surf,

All echo Love's enchanting notes;
From violets lurking in the turf,

His balmy breath through ether floats.

From perfumed flowers and dewy leaves
Delicious scents he bids exhale;
He smiles amid autumnal sheaves,

And clothes with green the grassy vale:
But when that throne the God assumes
Where his most powerful influence lies,
'Tis on Louisa's cheek he blooms,
And lightens from her radiant eyes!

CHARLOTTE SMITH.

THE EMBLEM OF LOVE.

FROM THE FRENCH OF THE MARQUIS DE PEZAI.

By thee, on the sand of this shore,
Our ciphers in union were traced,
But the fugitive billows roll'd o'er,
And the writing was quickly effaced.

Yet thy emblem of love, though so frail
That the waters soon swept it away,
Not so soon, O thou false one! did fail
As the passion 'twas meant to display.

R. A. DAVENPORT.

THE ROSE.

FROM THE FRENCH OF BERNARD.

NURSED by the zephyr's balmy sighs,
And cherish'd by the tears of morn,
Oh flower of flowers! unfold-arise!
O haste, delicious Rose, be born!
Unheeded wish! no-yet awhile,

Be yet awhile thy doom delay'd, Since the same hour that sees thee smile In orient bloom, shall see thee fade. Cecilia thus, an opening flower,

Must withering droop at Heaven's decr Like her thou bloom'st thy little hour, And she, alas! must fade like thee.

But go-and on her bosom die;

At once thy throne and blissful tomb;
While envious heaves my secret sigh,
To share with thee so sweet a doom.
Love shall thy graceful bent advise,
Thy blushing tremulous tints reveal;
Go, bright yet hurtless, charm her eyes;
Go, deck her bosom, not conceal.

Should some bold hand invade thee there,
From Love's asylum rudely torn;

O Rose, a lover's vengeance bear,
And let my rival feel thy thorn.

THE END.

C. A. ELT

C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.