The framer of this feeble lay

Thy form beheld; but little knew
There dwelt a soul to feeling true,
A heart by gen'rous pity warm'd,
A mind for ev'ry virtue form'd.—
Oh! Lady fair, delay awhile,
Nor yet forsake the Emerald Isle.

I've seen thee leave the stately dome,
And seek pale Misery's joyless home;
The sufferer's frequent throb to calm
With hope's despair-subduing balm,
And o'er his anguish-loaded bed
The heavenly dew of comfort shed.-
Oh! Lady fair, delay awhile,
Nor yet forsake the Emerald Isle.

But as the heart, where'er we roam,
Prefers the dear delights of home;
When fond affection points the way,
No selfish thought shall urge thy stay:
Then go may angels guide thee o'er
To Britain's sea-encircled shore.—
Yet, Lady! cast one placid smile
Behind, and bless the Emerald Isle !
GAELUS.

THE FADED ROSE, By J. M. LACEY.

The rose was fresh, the rose was fair,
When Anna pluck'd the flow'r;
Its breath of fragrance fill'd the air,

So sweet its balmy pow'r.

She plac'd the blossom on her breast, Mild Virtue's hallow'd throne; Delighted there it seem'd to rest,

Unrivalled and alone!

But Anna sought the ball-room's maze; The flow'ret wither'd there;

It sunk beneath night's art-form'd blaze,
In death supremely fair.

Thus Beauty's flow'r too oft decays,
If stain'd by Vice's breath;

So swiftly fly its beamy rays,
And lose their charms in death.
No. LVI. Vol. X.

try Town in the West of England, letting the front of his House to a young APO

THECARY.

Thro' this town when I pass'd, so late as September,

A Stone cutter then flourish'd here; A shrewd, sensible blade, and, well I remember,

For gravestones renown'd far and near.

In the course of six months, it's curious I ween,

How tenants and tenements vary ; By pestle and mortar it plainly is seen, Now here dwells an A-po-the-cary.

But, good Master Freestone, I cannot divine,

Since with graves so close your alliance, Why your mansion to one you freely resign,

Whose medicines set death at defiance.

With health-giving powders, and potions, and pills,

From the ravage of nature he saves; Your pocket meantime mortality fills;You thrive by a number of graves.

Says a wag, who o'erheard, as he pass'd by the spot,

The Stranger's sagacious reflection, "Twixt things nearly opposite oft is there