Now, as the year anew begins,

And while you sit and warm your shins,,
Around your blazing chimney places,
Joy painted in your glowing faces,
Joy that kind PROVIDENCE attends you,
Health, and a copious harvest sends you;
Now as you seize the morning news,
Wet like the leaves with summer dews,
Or as you light your evening tapers,
And haste to read the fresh damp papers,
Amidst the cold and storms of winter,
Think on the Newsboy, and the Printer,
And never leave them cause to say-
"We suffer for the want of-PAY;"
At least while true in your employ,
Present a trifle to the BOY.

From the New-York Statesman.

[The following beautiful lines are from the pen of WILLIAM RAY, Esq. of Onondaga, whose poetical effusions have often delighted the public, and whose genius and taste ought to have secured to him the smiles, instead of the sternest frowns, of fortune.Few men, or in more emphatic terms, few poets, not even excepting Chatterton and Burns, have witnessed darker scenes of misfortune than Mr. Ray; and his cup of bitterness, although drained to the dregs, seems not yet exhausted. It was not enough, that he endured the horrors of slavery in a

foreign land; but in the bosom of his own country, he has met with oppressors, whose tender mercies are scarcely less cruel, than those which he found on the shores of the Mediterranean. During the reign of proscription, Mr. Ray has, with many other good citizens, been deprived of his office, which was the only means of supporting a helpless family, and turned adrift upon the world. We have understood he contemplates publishing a small volume of poems; and if he shall conclude to hazard such a publication, inauspicious as the times are for an undertaking of this sort, we sincerely hope that many considerations will ensure to him a liberal subscription.]

RETURN OF SPRING AND APPROACH OF
MAY.

THE signals of summer appear,
The fields and the forests are green,
That cherub, the spring of the year,
May now in fresh beauty be seen.

The fair branching fruit trees aspire,
To rival each other in charms,
And dress in their gayest attire,

To win the sweet birds to their arms.

The birds as if conscious of this,
Impartially visit them all,
Salute every bough with a kiss,
And honor each spray with a call.

Like Orpheus their music can move

E'en groves, in a dance from the ground; For rocks are made vocal to love,

Convey'd in the magic of sound:

How fragrant the breath of the skies,

How mellow the lustre of day,

That breaks from the morning's blue eyes,

And glows in the blushes of May.

And evening so calmly serene,

Like age in a holy decline,

Seems longing and ling'ring between
Two regions, with fervor divine.

The lamb, like a juvenile fair,
So innocent, thoughtless, and gay,
Skips forth to inhale the fresh air,
And kiss the young blossoms of May;

And oft like the maid is assail'd,
And ruin'd by foes in disguise;
For virtue has seldom prevail'd,
Assaulted by treach❜ry and lies.

The husbandman, seizing his plough,
Walks round in the pride of his might,
The drops of his masculine brow,
Fall freely as dews of the night;

His home is the center of rest,
His heart is the birth-place of joy,
All creatures around him are blest,
And praise is their sweetest employ.

Each insect, each worm, and each flow'r
A God of all goodness adore,
Acknowledge his life-giving pow'r,
And feed on his bountiful store.

The works of creation unite,

To lead

up man's soul to the skies,

And seasons of rural delight

Give wings for his spirit to rise.

THE CARRIER OF THE PLOUGH BOY TO HIS PATRONS.

SONS of labor now at ease,^

Whom the News-Boy toils to please,

Here he comes with cap in hand,

Always ready at command,
To regale you with the news,
And effusions of the muse,
Glad to see you thus appear,
Like the dawning of the year,
Fresh and glowing, bright and gay,
On this happy New-Year's Day.

May that happiness remain,
Long as time and nature reign,
And when both have pass'd away,
Like this busy fleeting day,
Happier still your portion be,
Through a long eternity.

All the toils of summer o'er,
Peace and plenty round his door,
Who on earth so blest and free
As the Farmer ?-Like the bee,
All the sweets of life are his-
Large and full his cup of bliss---
Who can envy thrones to kings,"
When the PLOUGH such treasure brings,

See his works with profit crown'dBarns with hay-stacks huddled round, Like a family, whom fear

Draws within a circle near;

Stately steeds and cattle neat,

Cribs of corn and mows of wheat
Thickly peopled is his fold-

Harmless sheep and lambs behold,
Like the christian, 'midst the din
Of a noisy world of sin-

Fowls oviperous cackling round,
Pois'd with one foot on the ground,

Meet their master as he comes,

Cluck their wants and shake their plumes,