They cease-but still a voice I hear,
A whisper'd voice of hope and joy:-
Thy hour of rest approaches near—

"

Prepare thee, mortal! thou must die!

"Yet, start not! on thy closing eyes

"Another day shall still unfold, "A sun of milder radiance rise,

"A happier age of joys untold.

"Shall the poor worm that shocks thy sight,

"The humblest form in Nature's train, "Thus rise in new-born lustre bright,

"And yet the emblem teach in vain? "Ah! where were once her golden eyes, "Her glittering wings of purple pride? "Concealed beneath a rude disguise,

"A shapeless mass, to earth allied.

"Like thee the hapless reptile liv'd,

"Like thee she toil'd, like thee she spun; "Like thine, her closing hour arriv'd,

"Her labours ceas'd, her web was done. "And shalt thou, number'd with the dead, "No happier state of being know? "And shall no future morrow shed "On thee a beam of brighter glow. "Is this the bound of power divine,

"To animate an insect frame? "Or shall not he who moulded thine, "Wake at his will the vital frame? "Go, mortal! in thy reptile state, "Enough to know to thee is given; "Go! and the joyful truth relate,

"Frail child of earth, high heir of heaven."

THE KISS.

By J. M. LACEY.

'Twas wrong, 'twas 1 very wrong, own; And doubtless, dear one, 'twas alarm

ing;

But like a radiant sun you shone,

And look'd, my love, so very charming: Such beauty swam in either eye, 'Twas vain to hope I could resist you; Your lip to mine was some how nigh,

And so, dear, tempting girl, I kiss'd you!

And view poor Cynthia's lowly bed: "Tis yonder little fresh green sod, Where seldom mourner's foot hath trod, Or pious tear been shed.

O Time! I would not blame thy power, For Cynthia's youth and beauty flown;

I mourn that but so sweet a flower

Should bloom and wither all alone:
For she was fair

Beyond compare,

And ever was her heart so blithe, || By gay, good-humour'd mirth upborne-O Time! she would have laugh'd to scorn Thy very glass and scythe,

For her, soft dreams and slumbers light

Succeeded calm, unruffled days;

Each eye beamed on her with delight,

The moon's still beam

On lake or stream,

Dark woods and precipices rude,

And at her feet,

With reverencé meet,

A crowd of flattering suitors strove; Some proffer'd glittering gems and gold, And some of endless transports told,

And everlasting love..

But little could their prayers avail,
Nor one could win the maiden's choice;
She little heeded Flattery's tale,

She scorn'd the sound of Mammon's
voice:

The gay attire,

Could she admire,

Of beaux that glitter'd by her side? While every vagrant butterfly, That frisks beneath a summer sky,

Could rival all their pride.

Yet had she seen some gentle youth,
Of manners mild, by sense refin'd,
Whose pure integrity and truth
Spoke manly dignity of mind;
And had he sued

In plaintive mood,
And sighing looked his anxious pain;
And had he dropp'd a silent tear,
The tribute of a soul sincere,—
It had not sued in vain.

What though the charms which Nature spread,

With raptur'd eye she oft survey'd; What though, "by heavenly music led," She lov'd to wander through the shade; Still from her breast, Forlorn, distress'd,

Would sometimes break unbidden sighs,

That she had none whose feeling heart In all her griefs might bear a part, And share in all her joys.

Vain was the oft repeated sigh,

And hide thy faded beauties here:
But in thine end,

A more than friend

Was needed, who could watch each breath,-

Still near thy sickly couch could wait,— Support thee on the brink of fate,

And cheer the gloom of death.

Thou who could'st mourn o'er Friendship's bier,

Why was thine own unwept to be? Thou who could'st give to all a tear, Why was there none to weep for thee?

Now, o'er thy grave

The wild weeds wave, Who shall thy perish'd worth deplore? Or say, the breast which lies beneath, Though doomed its sighs unheard to breathe,

Was never cold before?

Adieu, poor Cynthia! though thy bier By widow'd love has not been press'd;

known,

Who now had owned the sacred tie

Which binds all charities in one:-
No. LIX. Vol. X.

Shall view thy place of holy rest;

This little mound

Shall still be found

S s

Thou'rt the first of the year That I've seen appear, Since Winter resign'd his stern reign; But soon beside thee,

Many more shall there be, So gaily to deck the green plain.

See, the Sun in his pride, Wooes the earth as his bride, And ere his love-tale he has done, She plenteously pours

Her earliest flow'rs,

Of which, modest Daisy, thou'rt one.

Since all things look bright,
And all do invite

To join in the general lay,

Though thou canst not sing
In praise of the Spring,
Yet, sweet little Daisy, look gay.

L