ADDRESS TO THE STARS. YE are fair, ye are fair, and your pensive rays But have sin and sorrow ne'er wander'd o'er The green abodes of each sunny shore? Hath no frost been there, and no withering blast, Cold, cold, o'er the flower and the forest, pass'd? Does the playful leaf never fall or fade? The rose never droop in the silent shade? Say, comes there no cloud on your morning beam? No grief to shadow its light of joy? No bleeding breasts, that are doom'd to part? Hath death ne'er sadden'd your scenes of bloom? On the cypress tree or the ruin'd wall? "Twere vain to guess; for no eye hath seen We hear not the song of your early hours; Farewell, farewell! I go to my rest; For the shades are passing into the west, Anonymous. THE flower of youth never appears more beautiful than when it bends towards the Sun of Righteous ness. VIRTUOUS LOVE. YE children of men! Ye abound in the gifts of Providence, and many are the favours heaven has The earth teems with bounty, bestowed upon you. pouring forth the necessaries of life, and the refinements of luxury. The sea refreshes you with its breezes, and carries you to distant shores upon its bosom; it links nation to nation in the bonds of mutual advantage, and transfers to every climate the blessings of all. To the sun you are indebted for the splendour of the day, and the grateful return of season; it is he who guides you as you wander through the trackless wilderness of space, lights up the beauties of nature around you, and makes her break forth into fruitfulness and joy. But know that these, though delightful, are not the pleasures of the heart. They will not heal the wounds of fortune, they will not enchant solitude, or suspend the feeling of pain. Know, that I only am mistress of the soul. To me it belongs to impart agony and rapture. Hope and despair, terror and delight, walk in my train. My power extends over time itself, as well as over all sublunary beings. It can turn ages into moments, and moments into ages. Lament not the dispensations of Providence, amongst which the bestowment of my influence is one. He who feels may not be happy; but he who is a stranger to it it must be miserable! Hall. As the little bird cannot rise and sing in the heavens whilst the storm is raging, but will wait until it is abated, so the heart cannot rise in prayer to its Maker whilst passion rages in the heart. AN humble man is like a good tree; the more full of fruit the branches are, the lower they bend themselves. A WALK IN A CHURCH-YARD. WE walk'd within the Church-yard bounds, My little boy and I— He, laughing, running happy rounds; I, pacing mournfully. "Nay, child! it is not well," I said, A moment to my side he clung, A moment still'd his joyous tongue, Then, quite forgetting the command, In life's exulting burst Of early glee, let go my hand, Joyous as at the first. N |