A LYRIC.

I SEE thee, Glendalough !—no dream
Of wild imagination:

Far lovelier do thy beauties seem
To quiet contemplation-

I see thee, and I hear a voice

Into my bosom stealing,

That bids me inwardly rejoice

In ecstacy of feeling.

And yet for thoughts of sorrow will
Oft mingle with our gladness,
Creating, when the heart is still,
No unbecoming sadness-
While to this feast of nature I
Both soul and sense surrender,
I check not the obsequious sigh
O'er faded pride and splendour.

The mists descend, the mountain heads
With snow-like wreaths adorning :
And through the glen unbroken spreads
The stillness of the morning-

No streamlets' voice-no bird along
On dewy pinion soaring

Chants forth to heaven its matin song,
Melodious pleasure pouring-

But solitude and silence dwell,
Like sisters, here united;

And Echo in her rocky cell

For ever rests delighted!

And pale Romance around each cave
Is happy still to linger,

And touch each mound and humble grave
With sanctifying finger,

C. J. BLACK.

SONG.

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

WHEN, o'er the landscape, charming spring
Weeps 'mid her smiles in gentle showers
And fragrant op'ning blossoms fling
Their varied sweets from gay wild flowers,
The evil and the good have rights
On your protection,-then to man,
Afford, ye little elfin sprites,

Whatever friendly aid ye can!

While hov'ring yon poor mortal's head around, Fulfil your duties as good fairies boundAssuage the furious conflict in his heart,

Heal the keen wonnds of memory's fatal dart;

With cunning spells lull sorrow's wintry blast, And teach him blest oblivion of the past. Night hath divisions four; but let them be Conjoined, for once, in mystic unity!

First, on the greensward give him calm repose, Next, bathe him in the dew of Lethe's stream, So that with limbs refresh'd, like new-blown rose, He may bud forth anew, with morning's gleam; O'er him let Conscience' pangs have no control, And with celestial fire illume his soul!

A. GURNEY.

RESERVE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

SOMETHING Should remain unseen,
All the will should not appear;
For light thoughts will intervene,
And light words to danger veer.

Sometimes on the verge of speech,
Better not be overbold,

But little pausing caution teach,
What to say and what withhold.

Idle talk is ever free,

And with riches soon runs o'er; Reason should the treasurer be,

And still something keep in store.

ANON.

THE LATE DISCOVERY.

SHE stood where hills were high and green,
Where flowers were sweet and wild,
Where ne'er before her steps had been,
The city's toiling child;

But even the glorious spring that shed
Its sunshine o'er her now,

Could ne'er restore the spring-time fled
From that young heart and brow.

She saw the happy hamlet homes,
In valleys fair and free;

And heard, among the meadow blooms,
The voice of childhood's glee;

But from those early shaded eyes

The tears were falling fast,

As thus, amid her dying days,
The blighted spoke at last:

THE LATE DISCOVERY.

"Ah! had the earth such glorious things

Beneath so blue a sky,

While all my cheerless, hopeless springs

In darkness glided by?

Did all these lovely scenes expand,

These happy hearts exist,

And yet, amid the pleasant land,
How was my portion mist?

For I have seen the palace hall
In distant splendour gleam,
And heard the midnight festival

Awake my weary dream;

And all that wealth from farthest shore
Or distant wave could bring,
Mine eyes have seen, but ne'er before
Beheld the blessed spring.

Though oft such visions long ago
My lonely dreams have cross'd
Yet never knew my soul, till now,
The all that it had lost.

Oh, lovely vales! oh, glorious skies!
Oh, flowers of balmy breath!

How will ye gladden other eyes

When mine are sealed in death.

Alas! for human sacrifice,

The stain of every clime;

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