Yon shadowy Bark hath been to that wreck,
And the dim blue fire, that lights her deck,
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew
As ever yet drank the church-yard dew!

To Dead-man's Isle, in the eye of the blast,
To Dead-man's Isle she speeds her fast;
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd,
And the hand that steers is not of this world!

Oh! hurry thee on-oh! hurry thee on,
Thou terrible Bark! ere the night be gone;
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight
As would blanch for ever her rosy light!

TO *******

NEVER mind how the pedagogue proses,
You want not antiquity's stamp ;

The lip, that's so scented by roses,
Oh! never must smell of the lamp.

Old Cloe, whose withering kisses

Have long set the loves at defiance, Now, done with the science of blisses, May fly to the blisses of science!

Young Sappho, for want of employments,
Alone o'er her Ovid may melt,
Condemn'd but to read of enjoyments
Which wiser Corinna had felt.

But for you to be buried in books-
Oh, FANNY! they're pitiful sages
Who could not in one of your looks
Read more than in millions of

Astronomy finds in your eye

pages!

Better light than she studies above,
And Music must borrow your sigh,
As the melody dearest to love.

In Ethics-'tis you that can check,

In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels ; Oh! show but that mole on your neck,

And 'twill soon put an end to their morals

Your Arithmetic only can trip

When to kiss and to count you endeavour ;

But Eloquence glows on your lip

When you swear that you'll love me for ever.

Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance

Of arts is assembled in you

A course of more exquisite science
Man never need wish to go through!

And, oh!--if a fellow like me

May confer a diploma of hearts, With my lip thus I seal your decree, My divine little Mistress of Arts!

SACRED SONGS.,

THE GRIEF OF JUDAH.

HUSH'D is the voice of Judah's mirth-
And Judah's minstrels too are gone;
The harps that told Messiah's birth
And hung on heaven's eternal throne.

Fled is the bright and shining throng

That swell'd 'on earth the welcome strain,

And lost in air, the choral song

That floated wild on David's plain.

For dark and sad is Bethlehem's fate,
Her valleys gush with human blood;
Despair sits mourning at her gate,

And murder stalks in frantic mood.

At morn, the mother's heart was light,
Her infant bloom'd upon her breast,
At eve, 'twas pale and wither'd quite,
And gone to its eternal rest.

Weep on, ye childless mothers, weep!
Your babes are hush'd in one cold grave!

S

In Jordan's stream their spirits sleep,
Their blood is mingled with the wave.

SONG OF THE ANGEL.

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward men. Luke ii. 14.

دو

ARRAY'D in clouds of golden light,

More bright than Heaven's resplendent bow, Jehovah's angel came by night,

To bless the sleeping world below!
How soft the music of his tongue!
How sweet the hallowed strains he sung

"Good-will henceforth to man be given;"
The light of glory beams on earth;
Let angels tune the harps of heaven,
And saints below rejoice with mirth :
On Bethlehem's plains the shepherds sing,
And Judah's children hail their King!

FALLEN IS THY THRONE.

FALLEN is thy throne, O Israel!
Silence is o'er thy plains;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,
Thy children weep in chains.