mitted to crown me with blissfulness and peace! Author (after the Most High) of all the happiness I have ever known, or shall know upon earth! whose image is still a balm and a blessing, though despair would have made it a madness but for the tempering aid of religionSpirit of purity, innocence, and virtue! did I forget thee whilst musing amongst the habitations of the dead?

TO THE MEMORY OF

Here, where the good, the loved, the lost decay,
Where sad affection oft hath sighed farewell,

To thee, my holiest recollections stray.

How many gushing thoughts within me swell!
As with my feeble voice I thus essay
Awhile upon thy excellence to dwell,

And bring thee as thou wert before mine eye,
Robed in the bright and glorious hues of memory.

Thou that didst love me most, and unto whom
I most was knit-thou art no more for me

Or earth: but vainly, vainly shall the gloom
Of deepening time close o'er us; thou shalt be,
Even from the far recesses of thy tomb,

A light unto my footsteps, and to thee

I turn in doubt, temptation, danger, guile—

And shun th' abyss, and feel as though I saw thee smile.

O! might I hear thee bless me! yet no, no-
I will not, do not, dare not wish thee here;
Again thy many griefs to undergo,

Again to shed for others' wrongs the tear
That for thine own was all unwont to flow.

Who would not envy thy unstained career?

Who spent a life in striving to do good,

And ne'er caused one to weep-save tears of gratitude.

In every fortune-and you had known all

'Twas thine to soothe, to cheer, and to caress;

No dangers could thy fortitude appal,

No crosses shake thy stedfast tenderness.

One of the few that never fail or fall!

One of the few created but to bless!

Earth was not worthy of thee-so on high
Thou hast been raised to watch o'er us continually.

The cheerful smile that on thy features played,
And shone with chastened softness in thine eye-

The grace of every accent, which conveyed
The sense that all within was purity-
These were the charms and ornaments that made
Thee, living, loved, by all-lamented, die;
For scattering goodness wheresoe'er you moved,
You held the hearts of even those whom you reproved.

Such wert thou to the world; but it could ne'er Know half those beauties which conspicuous shone

By thy domestic hearth;-what thou wert there,

May never be by my essay made known;

I can but gaze around, and look to where
Thou wast.-I can but feel that thou art gone.
There is a void no other form may fill→
There is a grief that even time can scarcely kill.

To hang around thy heart, each thought to steal, To watch each wish, and wait on every look; To win the smile that could my spirit heal

When by the world, or by myself forsook,These are not for me now-I ne'er may feel

The thrilling transport that my heart had shook, Had I but thee to cherish and caress,

And be unto thee, like thyself, all tenderness.

O may that fervid piety which bore

Thy stedfast steps through many a scene of woe, And lit thy looks in the most dreary hour,

Illume my heart with as intense a glow;

That I may heed no storms that round me lour,
But have within the peace which passeth show.-
Thy treasured words continue long my guide!—
O thou the only friend that never left my side.

Why must I mourn that thou no more dost weep,
Nor bidest the buffets of this stormy scene ?—
And yet, while I think on thee there doth sweep
Across my soul a gush of woe-not keen,

But tempered to still sorrow-like the deep
Full tones of the sad organ; and I glean
A solace from this half-subdued distress,
That robs from grief some portion of its bitterness.

'Tis not for thee, but for myself I grieve*

A selfish sorrow I cannot subdue ;
But 'tis within me and may never leave,
For Time is able only to renew.
Oppression, scorn, or care, shall not bereave
This lonely heart of memory and you.-
No earthly aim can e'er my thoughts control-
To thee, to thee I turn with an unchanging soul.

nihil enim mali accidisse Scipioni puto; mihi accidit si quid accidit." I consider that no ill hath happened to thee; it is I only who suffer.-Cicero de Amicitiâ.

ABOUT the middle of the seventeenth century, the constitution of Denmark underwent a sudden, and remarkable change. The supreme power which had been usurped by the nobles, was torn from them by the clergy and commons, and vested absolutely in the king. I am well assured that there are now no hereditary titles, though I have seen the contrary stated by: several authors. The nobility is entirely composed of officers and courtiers, who are created counts or barons for life. The king is very