TO ROSA.

BY W. READ, ESQ.

ROSA! 't was one of those autumnal eves

When Heaven vouchsafes to Earth her loveliest looks ;The still wood's sun-touched wilderness of leaves, And cloud, and mountain-scalp, and castle took Their colour from the west-bright gold! the brook Rippled in gold;—the great oak, branching o'er, Was golden barked ; —'t was gold the cygnet shook From her white wing;-and Strangford's blue lake wore A belt of quivering gold from shore to placid shore.

Yet yet the broad sun loitered on the gaze
Dilated-slanting, ever as he went,
Intenser glory from his throne of rays,

Till, like some warrior-king, he won his tent,-
A purple cloud that wrapped the Occident.
Earth faded now, though heaven still was bright
With hues that blushed until the young moon bent
Her pointed crescent on the brow of night,
Which wore a dusky smile beneath that chrysolite.

Such was the scene, sweet girl! we gazed upon,
While thou recountedst o'er that tale of woe
Which oft, in other lands, a setting sun

Hath summoned like a talisman;—although
Gone hope, and griefs that bade the heart o'erflow,
Be since forgot, and tears that fell in vain ;-
And with it rose thine image, like the bow
That bathes its colours in the summer-rain,

Thou Iris of my heart, whose smiles wake hope again!

At length, one bright eve in a foreign bower,
I snatched my lute that on a laurel tree
Had idly hung-for, O! I knew the power
Of slighted song was hovering over me,

U

And felt its pulse in every artery!

I snatched my lute, and to its preluding
Unrolled the pictured scroll of Memory;
And found, 'mid many a far and favorite thing,
That unforgotten tale of love and sorrowing.

A spell was on me!-No! I could not choose
But weave that simple story into song!
And if its wild and plaintive beauty lose

Much of the grace it borrowed from thy tongue,—
And if sometimes a careless hand be flung
Where passion listened for her holiest tone-
Star of my path! forgive, forgive the wrong!

Whatever is of beauty is thine own:

Thy fair hand culled the flowers-I twined the wreath alone. Literary Souvenir.

THE LAUNCH OF THE NAUTILUS.

BY THE REV. E. BARNARD.

Up with thy thin transparent sail,

Thou tiny mariner !—The gale

Comes gently from the land, and brings

The odour of all lovely things

That Zephyr, in his wanton play,
Scatters in Spring's triumphant way ;—

Of primrose pale, and violet,

And young anemone, beset

By thousand spikes of every hue,

Purple and scarlet, white and blue:

And every breeze that sweeps the earth

Brings the sweet sounds of love and mirth;
The shrilly pipe of things unseen
That pitter in the meadows green ;

The linnet's love-sick melody,
The laverock's carol loud and high;

And mellowed, as from distance borne,

The music of the shepherd's horn.

Up, little Nautilus!-Thy day
Of life and joy is come :—away!
The ocean's flood, that gleams so bright
Beneath the morning's ruddy light,
With gentlest surge scarce ripples o'er
The lucid gems that pave the shore;
Each billow wears its little spray,
As maids wear wreaths on holiday;
And maid ne'er danced on velvet green
More blithely round the May's young queen,
Than thou shalt dance o'er yon bright sea
That wooes thy prow so lovingly.
Then lift thy sail!-'Tis shame to rest,
Here on the sand, thy pearly breast.
Away! thou first of mariners:-

Give to the wind all idle fears;

Thy freight demands no jealous care,—
Yet navies might be proud to bear
The wonderous wealth, the unbought spell,
That load thy ruby-cinctured shell.
A heart is there to nature true,
Which wrath nor envy ever knew,—-
A heart that calls no creature foe,
And ne'er designed another's woe;—
A heart whose joy o'erflows its home,
Simply because sweet spring is come.
Up, beauteous Nautilus!-Away!
The idle muse that chides thy stay
Shall watch thee long, with anxious eye,

O'er thy bright course delighted fly;

And, when black storms deform the main,
Cry welcome to the sands again!

Heaven grant, that she through life's wild sea

May sail as innocent as thee;

And, homeward turned, like thee may find
Sure refuge from the wave and wind.

Literary Souvenir.

SONG.

SAY a kind farewell, my Mary!
Here's a kind farewell to thee!
'Tis the last time ever, Mary,
Thou 'lt say farewell to me.
I'll not depart in sorrow,

Nor mourn upon the shore;
But I'll smile upon to morrow,
And the sea-wave and its roar.

I dreamed a heart was mine,
With its passion and its joy ;
And oh! the heart was thine,
And I loved it as a boy.
But all is over now, Mary,

The dream and the delight;
And I'll bury all beside, Mary,
In forgetfulness to night.

I'll sing the song that others sing;

I'll

pass the jest with all;

And I will not tame my spirit's wing

In banquet or in hall;

But I'll fill one cup alone, Mary,

To drown thy maiden spell;

And I'll drain that cup

to thee, Mary,

For a health and a farewell!

When the snow-white sails are set,

And the seaward gale is blowing,

My eyes shall not be wet;

My tears shall not be flowing :

But when England fades away, Mary,

And I'm lone upon the sea;

Oh! I'll look towards England then, Mary,
And sigh farewell to thee.

The Etonian.

G.M.

THE LAMENT OF COLUMBUS.

Nor mine the dreams,

The vague chimeras of an earth-stained soul,
O'er which the mists of error darkly roll;
For Heaven-sent beams

Have chased the gloom that round my soul was flung,
And pierced the clouds that o'er Creation's mysteries hung.

From my youth up

For this high purpose was I set apart—
An unbreathed thought, it lived within my heart;
And though life's cup

Was filled with all earth's agonies, I quaffed
Unmurmuring, for that hope could sweeten any draught.

There were who jeered,

And laughed to scorn my visionary scheme;
They thought yon glorious sun's resplendent beam
So brightly cheered

And vivified alone the spot of earth

Where they, like worms, had lived and grovelled from their birth.

But, called by God,

From home and friends my willing steps I turned;
Led by the light that in my spirit burned,

Strange lands I trod;

And lo! new worlds uncurtained by my hand,
Before the' admiring East in pristine beauty stand.

And what was given

To recompense the many nameless toils
That won my king a new-found empire's spoils?
The smile of heaven

Blessed him who sought amid those Eden plains

To plant the holy cross; but man's reward was chains.