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area is said to be thirty-seven Irish acres. Close beside it stands a precipice of several hundred feet, near the top of which is a dark overhanging cliff, commonly called the "Eagle's Crag;" and the lake itself sometimes overflows and glides down the side of the mountain in the opposite direction. This brief description of the principal features of the scene, may serve to prepare the reader for what he is to expect in the little poem which follows.

FAREWELL TO LOUGH BRAY.

Then fare the well!-I leave thy rocks and glens,
And all thy wild and random majesty,

To plunge amid the world's deformities,

And see how hideously mankind deface

What God hath given them good:-while viewing thee,

I think how grand and beautiful is God,

When man has not intruded on his works,
But left his bright creation unimpair'd.

"Twas therefore I approached thee with an awe
Delightful, therefore eyed, with joy grotesque—
With joy I could not speak; (for on this heart
Has beauteous Nature seldom smiled, and scarce
A casual wind has blown the veil aside,
And shewn me her immortal lineaments,)
"Twas therefore did my heart expand, to mark

H

Thy pensive uniformity of gloom,

The deep and holy darkness of thy wave,
And that stern rocky form, whose aspect stood
Athwart us, and confronted us at once,
Seeming to vindicate the worship due,
And yet reclined in proud recumbency,
As if secure the homage would be paid :
It look'd the genius of the place, and seem'd
To superstition's eye, to exercise

Some sacred, unknown function.-Blessed scenes!
Fraught with primeval grandeur! or if aught
Is changed in thee, it is no mortal touch

That sharpen'd thy rough brow, or fringed thy skirts
With coarse luxuriance :-'twas the lightning's force
Dash'd its strong flash across thee, and did point
The crag; or, with his stormy thunderbolt,
Th' Almighty architect himself disjoin'd

Yon rock; then flung it down where now it hangs,
And said, "Do thou lie there;”—and genial rains,
(Which e'en without the good man's prayer came down)
Call'd forth thy vegetation.-Then I watch'd
The clouds that coursed along the sky, to which
A trembling splendour o'er the waters moved
Responsive; while at times it stole to land,
And smiled among the mountain's dusky locks.
Surely there linger beings in this place,
For whom all this is done :-it cannot be,
That all this fair profusion is bestow'd

For such wild wayward pilgrims as ourselves.

Haply some glorious spirits here await

The opening of heaven's portals; who disport
Along the bosom of the lucid lake;

Who cluster on that peak; or playful peep

Into yon eagle's nest; then sit them down

And talk of those they left on earth, and those
Whom they shall meet in heaven: and, haply tired,
(If blessed spirits tire in such employ,)

The slumbering phantoms lay them down to rest
Upon the bosom of the dewy breeze.—

Ah! whither do I roam-I dare not think-
Alas! I must forget thee; for I go

To mix with narrow minds and hollow hearts-
I must forget thee-fare thee, fare thee well!

The following stanzas will convey some idea of the sensations with which the poet returned from such scenes as this to the sombre walls of a college, and how painfully he felt the transition from such enjoyments to the grave occupation of academic studies.

To aught that once would warm it—

That Nature's form so dear of old

No more has power to charm it;

Or that th' ungenerous world can chill
One glow of fond emotion

For those who made it dearer still,

And shared my wild devotion.

II.

Still oft those solemn scenes I view
In rapt and dreamy sadness;

Oft look on those who loved them too
With fancy's idle gladness;
Again I long'd to view the light
In Nature's features glowing;
Again to tread the mountain's height,
And taste the soul's o'erflowing.

III.

Stern Duty rose, and frowning flung
His leaden chain around me;
With iron look and sullen tongue

He mutter'd as he bound me

"The mountain breeze, the boundless heaven,

"Unfit for toil the creature;

"These for the free alone are given,

"But what have slaves with Nature ?"

A description of an enchanting scene in the county Wicklow-" the Dargle," or "Glen of the Oak"-cannot fail to interest any one who

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has had the happiness to visit it, and is gifted with taste to enjoy it. This little sketch, though written in prose, is animated by the very spirit of poetry, and is so graphically accurate in the delineation of every feature of that lovely spot, that it seems capable of summoning up before the imagination, as by magic, the whole scene, in all its vivid colouring and its distinctive forms of beauty.

THE DARGLE.

We found ourselves at Bray about ten in the morning, with that disposition to be pleased which seldom allows itself to be disappointed; and the sense of our escape from every thing not only of routine, but of regularity, into the country of mountains and glens and valleys and waterfalls, inspired us with a sort of gay wildness and independence, that disposed us to find more of the romantic and picturesque than perhaps Nature ever intended. If therefore, gentle reader, thou shouldest here meet with any extravagances at which thy sober feelings may be inclined to revolt, bethink thee, that the immortal Syntax himself, when just escaped from the everlasting dulness of a school,