THE BIRD OF THE DESERT.

Pilgrim! I love in the hush of night
To watch the stars in their bow'rs of light,
Or gaze upon the moon that glides

Like a young queen o'er the tides.
The fountain is tuned by the gentle breeze,
And its blue rills murmur like distant seas,
And the flow'rs to me upturn their eyes
Like spirits of the skies.

The seasons pass on their viewless wings,
But leave no trace of their wanderings-
I ne'er regret their darkest hour,

—It cannot blight my bower!

The cloud of sorrow has dimmed thy brow,
And thy heart assumed a fatal vow;
But all the vows at Mecca given

Appeal in vain to heaven!

The bright vines cling to thy distant hall,
And the roses bloom on its marble wall,
And o'er its dome the clouds unfold

Their shapes of liquid gold.

Was it not bliss to thy thoughtful eye,
At eve to muse on the gorgeous sky,
Or breathe the rich ethereal air

Among the vine-trees there?

Oh! deemest thou that Mecca's shrine
Can fire that fading eye of thine,
Or round thy languid spirit close
Its halo of repose?

No! thy home with its kindred ties
A holier boon to thy heart supplies;
Thy children's tears in thy absence given,
Are not contemned by heaven.

Pilgrim, return! from thy wanderings cease,
And ne'er desert thy home of peace,
But like the bird and the desert flower

Be faithful to thy bower!'

This song dispelled the pilgrim's mental gloom
As clouds recede before the sunny beam;

It stole o'er him like music from a world

Seen only in our dreams, and thrilled his frame
With renovated power. As he retired

From the sweet spot so much endeared to him,
To seek his distant paradise again,

He breathed a fervent blessing on the bird,
Whose artless strain had taught him how to make
His future destiny secure in heaven.

Deal.

THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER.

BY THE REV. HENRY STEBBING, M.A.

GREAT Father! blest and hallowed be thy name!
They told me when, not sad and lone as now,
A happy child before thy throne I came,

That light and mercy from thy altars flow-
That thou from hour to hour dost ever shed

The dew of blessing on our path and bedAnd when the sun shone bright, and skies were fair, I knew the Lord that made the heavens was there. But now I hear thee when the darksome night And fearful winds have made me lie and weep, And pray that soon it might again be light, Since none now care to bless me ere I sleep. Even as the birds their nests, when storms are near, I seek thee, in my sorrow and my fear; And then I weep no more, but seem to rest In my own home, and on my mother's breast. O Father of the Fatherless! I pray

That thus thy love may ever bless my path, Guard me at night and guide me in the day,

Nor let stern men come near me in their wrath!
And, gracious Father! as the small spring flowers
Bloom thankfully, when thou dost give sweet
showers,

The orphan's heart not sterile all will be,
But wake and live in thankfulness to thee.
VOL. II. Oct. 1832.

How could you say my face was fair,
And yet that face forsake?

How could you win my virgin heart,

Yet leave that heart to break?-Mallett.

THE lively and agreeable Dorigny, though married to a charming woman, was known among his friends as un homme à bonnes fortunes; a circumstance which did not prevent his living on the best terms with his wife, who prudently shut her eyes to his infidelities, and contented herself with the respect and affection with which he always treated her. They had been married about three years when the French demagogues commenced their memorable mode of regenerating their country, by the destruction of all its religious and social institutions. Dorigny, not being the sort of stuff that politicians are made of, had the good fortune to escape the dangers of the times, and, whatever he thought of the changes that were making, had the prudence to give no opinion against them. In fact, he was one of those people who trouble themselves very little about any sort of liberty except the liberty of love, and as he had always enjoyed that under the old government, he would have been well contented to let things remain in statu quo; but when the National Assembly published their famous law of divorce, he began to think that the new institutions were, after all, not so bad, for he was then desperately in love with a very pretty woman, who was also passionately fond of him, but whose virtue opposed an invincible barrier to the gratification of his desires.

However, as Dorigny knew that her virtue was at bottom merely a sentiment of pride, he thought that she would have no religious scruples about accepting his hand if he was in a condition to tender it. He hastened, therefore, to make her the offer of obtaining a divorce if she would consent to marry him: she agreed, and nothing remained but to obtain his wife's concurrence, which he flattered himself would not be a diffi