Had charactered her countenance, still gleamed Fast fluttering o'er their desolate nest? Mourn not for her who died!-She lived, as saints As sleep steals o'er the senses, unperceived, And the last thoughts that soothed the waking soul Mingle with our sweet dreams.-Mourn not for her! Blackwood's Magazine. THE MICHAELMAS DAISY. LAST Smile of the departing year, Thy sister sweets are flown; Thy pensive wreath is far more dear, For blooming thus alone. Thy tender blush, thy simple frame, But now thou com'st with softer claim, Sweet are the charms in thee we find, "T is thine to call past bloom to mind, BY ARTHUR BROOKE, ESQ. He sleeps in peace at last, He rests to rise no more; The breath he scorned, restore, He'd curse the wayward fate that hurled Him back upon this worthless world! Affliction's early chill His best emotions froze, Who lightened half his woes; In friends, to whom his heart was bared, And every inmost feeling shared, He met his deadliest foes. What though he joined the ways of menThose wounds could never close again! With fevered hand he caught At Joy's bewildering bowl, That preyed upon his soul, Still, still the fruitless cup was drained— The brightest shapes of love To banish one he strove, In dalliance with the rest; But 't was in vain—with heart unmoved, Through all the paths of bliss he rovedA melancholy jest! There Pleasure smiled, and Beauty shone, His spirit darker grew ; He loathed the light of heaven; That stroke-his heart is riven ! STANZAS. BY W. S. WALKER, ESQ. THOU hast left us, dearest Spirit! and left us all alone, But thou thyself to glory and liberty art flown; And the song that tells thy virtues, and mourns thy early doom, Should be gentle as thy happy death, and peaceful as thy tomb. Thy place no longer knows thee beside the household hearth, our name, Is more than we would part with, for fortune or for fame. Thy dying gift of love-'t was a light and slender token, And thy parting words of comfort, were few and faintly spoken; But memory must forsake us, and life itself decay, Ere those gifts shall lie forgotten, or those accents pass away. Farewell, our best and fairest! a long, a proud farewell! May those who love thee follow, to the place where thou dost dwell Like the lovely star that led from far the wanderers to their God, May'st thou guide us in the pathway which thy feet in beauty trod. The Etonian. BY DELTA. 'Tis midnight deep; the full, round moon, Yes, 't is a season and a scene, With stir and strife, may come between Thou wert a rainbow to my sight, For me, and only me, thy flower Dark though the world for me might shew And art thou dead? I dare not think And broken is the only link That chained youth's pleasant thoughts to me! Alas! that thou couldst know decay That, sighing, I should live to say, "The cold grave holdeth thee!” For me thou shon'st, as shines a star, On Sorrow's lowering coast. And art thou gone? I deemed thee some Enough; and what with thee I proved, ད། Earth in thy sight was Faëry land ;- Farewell!-and must I say, farewell?— A present thought; thy form shall dwell Thy voice shall mingle with my dreams, Never revives the past again; But thou shalt be, in lonely hours, |