VERSES.

PENSIVE I rove the pebbled shore,
Where Trent slow winds his crystal stream,
Now youth's gay season charms no more,
Or gilds with smiles life's airy dream ;

Secluded from the noisy town,

Where folly rules with potent sway; Where malice points the scornful frown; And specious friends, alas! betray.

I hear the tumult from afar

Of mingled joy and sorrow loud; There mad Ambition mounts the car, And still deludes the gaping crowd.

Ah! little do his vot'ries know

What bliss these peaceful scenes afford; What charms from this retirement flow, What plenty decks my homely board.

on the margin of the stream,

Or through the flow'ry meads I stray, Some blissful vision prompts my theme, And sweetly cheats the fleeting day.

Sequester'd thus from care and show,
I'll join the much-lov'd poet's song:
"Man wants but little here below,"
Alas!" Nor wants that little long."

C. S.

TO HENRY.

AH! tell me not, that jealous fear
Betrays a weak suspicious mind;
Were I less true, and thou less dear,
I should be blest, and thou be kind.

But while, by giddy fancy led,

In search of joy you wildly rove,
Say, can my mind be free from dread,
When ev'ry sense is chain'd by love?

Yet soon my anxious fears shall cease,
Since I am doom'd from thee to part;
That day will give me lasting peace,
For, oh! that day will break my heart.

Emma.

THE THORN WITHOUT THE ROSE.

"No

o more, my bosom's peace to wound, The oft-told tale relate,

Of troubles you, my friend, have found
To vex the marriage state.

"The querulous capricious mind
Deserves contempt and scorn,
That hopes in life's paterre to find
A Rose without a Thorn."

Thus Jack to Tom, his comrade dear,
With peevish accents spoke,
For Tom had groan'd full many a year
Beneath the nuptial yoke.

A termagant his consort prov'd,
Devoid of female grace,

From Hecate scarce in form remov'd,
In temper, or in face.

"My friendly monitor, I must
(Nor let it raise your pride)
Confess your observation just."
Thus, quickly, Tom reply'd :—

"But, think how hard his fate must be,

How piteous sure his woes, Who's destin'd to possess, like me,

The Thorn without the Rose.

MS.

TO HOPE.

AH! who is me! from day to day
I drag a life of pain and sorrow:
Yet still, sweet Hope! I hear thee say,
"Be calm, thine ills will end tomorrow."

The morrow comes, but brings to me
No charm, disease or grief relieving!
And am I ever doom'd to see,

Sweet Hope, thy promises deceiving?

Yet false and cruel as thou art,
Thy dear delusions will I cherish :
I cannot, dare not, with thee part,
Since I, alas! with thee must perish.

Anonymous.

REFLECTIONS ON MATRIMONY.

BY AN OLD BACHELOR.

Down to the vale of life I tend, Where hoary age creeps slowly on ; And with the burdening thought I bend, That youth and all its joys are gone.—

Successive years have roll'd away,
In fancied views of future bliss ;
They prov'd mere phantoms of a day,
And all that future dies in this.

Now, with a retrospective eye,
I look far back to early life;
When Hymen promis'd to supply
My highest wishes in a wife.

I waited, hop'd, and trusted still,
That time would bring th' expected day;
But never happy to my will,

Did fortune throw it in my way.

Too nice, too wise, too proud was I
To wed as taught by Nature's rule;
The world was still to chuse for me,-

And I—the condescending fool.—