ON . . . . ASLEEP.

SLEEP on, and dream of heaven awhile.
Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes,
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile,

And move, and breathe delicious sighs!—

Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks,
And mantle o'er her neck of snow.
Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks
What most I wish--and fear to know.

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps!
Her fair hands folded on her breast.
-And now, how like a saint she sleeps!

A seraph in the realms of rest!

Sleep on secure! Above control,

Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee!
And may the secret of thy soul
Remain within its sanctuary!

AN INSCRIPTION IN THE CRIMEA.

SHEPHERD, or Huntsman, or worn Mariner,
Whate'er thou art, who wouldst allay thy thirst,
Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stone,
Arched, and o'erwrought with many a sacred verse,
This iron cup chained for the general use,
And these rude seats of earth within the grove,
Were given by FATIMA. Borne hence a bride,
'Twas here she turned from her beloved sire,

To see his face no more.1 Oh, if thou canst
('Tis not far off) visit his tomb with flowers;
And with a drop of this sweet water fill
The two small cells scooped in the marble there
That birds may come and drink upon his grave,
Making it holy 2

ghs!

ks,

ks

ps!

ps!

Thee!

IEA.

st,

AN INSCRIPTION FOR A TEMPLE DEDI
TO THE GRACES.

APPROACH with reverence. There are those withi
Whose dwelling-place is heaven. Daughters of Jo
From them flow all the decencies of Life;
Without them nothing pleases, Virtue's self
Admired not loved: and those on whom They sm
Great though they be, and wise, and beautiful,
Shine forth with double lustre.

1 There is a beautiful story, delivered down to us from antiquity, w perhaps occur to the reader.

Icarius, when he gave Penelope in marriage to Ulysses, endeavour him to dwell in Lacedæmon; and, when all he urged was to no pu treated his daughter to remain with nim. When Ulysses set out with Ithaca, the old man followed the chariot, till, overcome by his impor consented that it should be left to Penelope to decide whether she w with him or return with her father. It is related, says Pausanias, t no reply, but that she covered herself with her veil; and that Icarius once by it that she inclined to Ulysses, suffered her to depart with hi A statue was afterwards placed by her father as a memorial in th road where she had covered herself with her veil. It was still star the days of Pausanias, and was called the statue of Modesty. 3 At Woburn Abbey.

WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.

SEPTEMBER 3, 1848.

If Day reveals such wonders by her Light,
What by her Darkness cannot Night reveal?
For at her bidding when She mounts her throne
The heavens unfold, and from the depths of Space
Sun beyond Sun, as when called forth they came,
Each with the worlds that round him rolled rejoicing.
Sun beyond Sun in numbers numberless

Shine with a radiance that is all their own!

REFLECTIONS.

MAN to the last is but a froward child ;

So eager for the future, come what may,

And to the present so insensible!

Oh, if he could in all things as he would,

Years would as days and hours as moments be;

He would, so restless is his spirit here,
Give wings to Time, and wish his life away!

ALAS, to our discomfort and his own,
Oft are the greatest talents to be found
In a fool's keeping. For what else is he,
However worldly wise and worldly strong,
Who can pervert and to the worst abuse
The noblest means to serve the noblest ends ;
Who can employ the gift of eloquence,

the veal? r throne

s of Space

ey came, led rejoicing,