SONGS FOR EVENING MUSIC.* BY MRS. HEMANS. I. YE ARE NOT MISS'D, FAIR FLowers. YE are not miss'd, fair flowers, that late were spreading There falls the dew, its fairy favours shedding, The leaves dance on, the young birds miss you not. Still plays the sparkle o'er the rippling water, And thou, meek Hyacinth! afar is roving The bee that oft thy trembling bells hath kiss'd; Ye, that were born to lend the sunbeam gladness, * These words are all appropriated to music, and will be published separately by Messrs. Willis and Co. III. WILLOW SONG. Willow in thy breezy moan I can hear a deeper tone; Thro' thy leaves come whispering low Willow, sighing willow! Many a mournful tale of old Heart-sick love to thee hath told; Many a swan-like song to thee Down thy moonlit stream hath sent,- Therefore, wave and murmur on, And for Love, whose heart hath bled, IV. BRIGHTLY HAST THOU FLED. Brightly, brightly hast thou fled! With thy young thoughts free from spot,- Ne'er by sorrow to be wet, Calmly smiles thy pale cheek yet, Ere by dust o'erspread. Lilies, ne'er by tempest blown,-— So we give thee to the earth; Thou, that, like a dew-drop, borne Brightly thou hast fled! V. SING, GONDOLIER! Sing to me, Gondolier! Sing words from Tasso's lay; Oh! ask me not to wake And the glad song is departed VI. THE ROCK BESIDE THE SEA. Oh! tell me not the woods are fair, The wild wave's thunder on the shore, Come back, my ocean rover, come! VII. THE ORANGE-bough. Bring from the grove an orange-bough, The myrtle that I loved hath died, The grove along the sunny shore, Then bear me thence one branch, to shed VIII. COME TO ME, SLEEP! Come to me, gentle Sleep! Come with thy spells, the soft, the deep, Each lonely burning thought In twilight languor steep; Come to the full heart, long o'erwrought O gentle, gentle Sleep! Come with thine urn of dew, Sleep, gentle Sleep!--but bring No voice, love's yearnings to renew, Come, as to folding flowers, To birds, in forests deep ; Long, dark, and dreamless be thine hours, IX. LEAVE ME NOT YET! Leave me not yet!-thro' rosy skies from far, Not yet!-low voices borne from hidden streams, -Leave me not yet! My thoughts are like those gentle tones, dear love! They wait for dews on earth, for stars above, SKETCHES FROM THE PORTFOLIO OF A MEDICAL TRAVELLER. [IT has been justly remarked, by an accomplished Edinburgh Professor, himself one of the most successful chroniclers of the day, that the practice of medicine is a mine full of interesting and important matter, highly valuable to the periodical writer, but hitherto little explored by him. The incidents related in the ensuing pages are gleaned from the writer's own practice, and are entirely founded in fact; although in narrating them he has scrupulously endeavoured to avoid fixing the identity of the parties, in all instances where his doing so could have been in any way construed into a breach of professional confidence.] No. I.-THE GODDESS OF REASON. It was towards the close of the day, in the summer of the year 18—, which I passed at Naples, that I was requested, by a British merchant residing in that city to visit the master of a vessel consigned to him, who had been attacked with indisposition. The day was sultry hot, accompanied by the scirocco which passes over from the burning sands of Africa, bearing with it numberless saline and acrid particles, which occasioned the most oppressive and uneasy sensations; towards its close, however, a breeze had sprung up from the land, which rendered the air somewhat cooler, though it occasioned but little agitation of the clear, blue, and tideless waters of the bay. The prospect at this moment, as I rode slowly along the Chiaja, was so delightful, that, I fear, no description I could give would do justice to it. The broad disk of the sun was just sinking into the wave, and exhibited, in mellowed and harmonious traits, the different features of the prospect, gilding with its last rays the dark outline of the Castle of St. Elmo, which crowns the summit of the high amphitheatre of hills surrounding the city, and which are themselves surmounted in the distance by the snow-capped heads of the Apennines. From the castle and down to the Chiaja, the precipitous descent was covered with vineyards and orangeries, which afforded a delicate and perfect relief to the town which reposed beneath them. In front of the Chiaja, and extending its whole length, were the gardens of the Villa Reale, laid out with the most exquisite taste, and exhibiting in their walks some of the most splendid specimens of ancient sculpture; such as the celebrated group of the Toro Farnese, which represents Amphion and Zethus, the sons of Lycus, King of Thebes, tying Dirce by the hair of her head to the horns of a bull. And lastly came the Bay itself, extending, with its broad, glassy, and transparent surface, for a circuit of thirty miles, bound in on the right by the promontory of Pausilippo, on which stands the wild tomb of the poet Virgil, and on the left by the promontory of Sorrento, anciently called Syrentum, from its enchanting situation, where stands, built upon a cliff, the paternal mansion of another celebrated poet, Torquato Tasso; whilst in the centre, and about midway between the two promontories, rose the huge island of Caprea, which acted like an enormous mole, breaking the force of the sea, and rendering this large portion of the Mediterranean as tran |