Ye fly eternity, where bliss sublime

Smiles amid groves where living fountains flow, To still the storms that shake the darkened clime, Where virtue struggles on the tide of woe; That joyless clime where youth's warm generous soul Sees Hope expire at Disappointment's goal.

Oh as ye fly, some bright refulgent star,

When the dread Spirit of the silent night
O'er heaven's blue vault drives his resplendent car,
His coursers glowing in ethereal light;
Oh as o'er midnight's azure dome ye sweep,

Your harpstrings glittering in the moon's pure beam, In Slumber's dew the eye of Sorrow steep,

And banish Care in Fancy's golden dream; While your bright wings wave o'er the sacred dell Where Grief and Solitude delight to dwell.

With Care's deep lines traced on his pallid brow,
And Beauty's image pictured on his brain,
Hark weeping Love to Sorrow pays his vow,
At Virtue's grave, beneath thy midnight reign;
On the cold sod, moist with nocturnal dew,
That shrouds his Ellen in impervious gloom,
His dark soul hails the solitary yew,

That bends its branches o'er her lonely tomb;
And Fancy hovering o'er the humid mound,
Still hears the dust on her cold bosom sound.

Ah still he views her lovely fragile form,

The beauteous victim of disease, consume,

As the fair floweret blasted by the storm,

Bows to the wind that tears its withering bloom:

While Death's dark scenes meet frenzied Memory's view, Starting, he seems to hear the heart-wrung sigh, Convulsive mingled with the faint adieu,

As Love's last beam shone in the closing eye;

Ere the pure spirit fled its dark abode,

And soared exulting to the throne of God.

Vain is the hope that Pleasure's dazzling blaze
Will chase the shades of Grief's nocturnal hour;
Vain is the gay delusion that betrays

The child of sorrow to her magic bower!
True, she will gleam and glitter on the sight,

And even the brow of pallid Woe illume,

As the wild meteor of the wintry night

Lures the lost wanderer thro' the deepening gloom; Till faint it dies on the dark river's wave,

In whose cold breast the pilgrim finds a grave.

To thee, oh Solitude, the breaking heart,

That shivering withers in the grasp of Care, May all the story of its woe impart,

And pour the grief-taught accents of despair; Till softer sighs the' unburthen'd bosom breathes, Soothed by the silence of thy hallowed grove, Soft as the gales that fan immortal wreaths,

Binding the brow of infant shades above; Who fled in terror from the frowns of Time, And sought Eternity's congenial clime.

Oh could I find thee in some hermit cell,

Reared amid cliffs, where foamy torrents rave,

While far below the fallen waters swell,

Dashing the craggs of Echo's hoary cave;

Amid the silence of thy dwelling drear,

Its mossy dome moist with the tears of Even, Fancy would love to wing her wild career

Where Nature wears the majesty of Heaven! Throned on the summit of the cliff sublime, Which rose majestic at the birth of Time.

Oh I would scale the rugged steep with thee,

Mid whose wild columns waves the twisting thorn, When Night, pale spectre! from the misty sea

Mounts her dim cloud, and fleets before the Morn: And when the glorious majesty of light

Waves his receding banners o'er the world, And the pure star that binds the zone of Night, Gilds angel-pinions o'er her throne unfurled! Mid scenes like these, Faith o'er Life's ocean soars, And breasts the tide that laves eternal shores.

ADELINE.

ELEGY,

ON THE

DEATH OF SIR RALPH ABERCROMBY, K.B.

BY THE Rev. d. w. DAVIES, B. A.

LATE, where yon rugged cliff in towering pride
Defies unmov'd the fury of the storm,-
Her eyes quick darting o'er the' expanded tide,-
A Maid appeared of more than human form.

Her azure robe, her ægis, and her spear,

Proclaim'd her Guardian-Angel of our isle: Her stedfast look expressed nor grief, nor fear, Nor yet was marked with Joy's exulting smile:

Deep-felt solicitude appeared impressed

On every feature, as on every thought, While she revolved within her anxious breast The fate of those who for her glory fought.

O waft, (she cried) in haste, ye favoring gales, Some joyful tidings to their native shore "Of that heroic band which late my sails • Hence to Ægyptus' torrid region bore.

• Extend thine arm, Great Ruler of the skies, • From every ill my faithful sons to shield: At thy behest impending danger flies;

To thy dread power the mightiest foe must yield.

'O may their chief, in valorous feats renown'd, Safe from the din of battle's dire alarms

Return, with laureate wreaths of conquest crown'd, In glorious triumph to these longing arms!

'But ah! sad Memory points to former years,

And prompts anew the pensive sigh to rise;

• Tells how admiring Gratitude in tears

• Stream'd unresisted from a nation's eyes—

• What time the Gallic foe was put to flight

By Wolfe, whose soul with patriot zeal was fir'd; • When at Quebec, on Abraham's arduous height, In Victory's arms the glorious youth expir'd.

• Invidious Death! when, 'midst the well-fought field, Heroes, like Wolfe, thy blood-drench'd shafts

'destroy

• What tho' to mine, all hostile forces yield?—
The dear-bought conquest loses all its joy.

• But whilst, Great God of Victory! I implore
That Abercromby too a conqueror prove→
'O safe restore him to this anxious shore,
'Long to enjoy a grateful country's love.'

She ceas'd:--when from aloft in azure air
Was heard a shrill reverberated sound;
And soon a winged form, divinely fair,

Appear'd, with radiant splendor circled round.