POETRY.

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.

BY LORD BYRON.

SWEET girl! though only once we met,
That meeting I shall ne'er forget;
And though we ne'er may meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain:
I would not say "I love," but still
My senses struggle with my will;
In vain to drive thee from my breast,
My thoughts are more and more represt;
In vain I check the rising sighs,
Another to the last replies;
Perhaps this is not love, but yet
Our meeting I can ne'er forget:
What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes in sweeter language spoke;
The tongue in flattering language deals,
And tells a tale it never feels;
Deceit the guilty lips impart,

And hush the mandates of the heart;
But souls' interpreters, the eyes,

Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise;
As thus our glances oft conversed,
And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,
No spirit from within reproved us,
Say rather 'twas the spirit moved us.
Though what they uttered I repress,
Yet I conceive thou 'It partly guess;
For as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders.
Thus for myself at least I'll say,

Thy form appears through night, through day:
Awake, with it my fancy teems,

In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams;

The vision charms the hours away,

And bids me curse Aurora's ray

For breaking slumbers of delight,

Which makes me wish for endless night.

Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or wo my steps await,
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image I can ne'er forget.

Alas, again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;
Then let me breathe this parting prayer,
The dictates of my bosom's care:

"May Heaven so guard my lovely Quaker,
That anguish ne'er may overtake her,
But blessed be aye her heart's partaker."
Oh, may the happy mortal fated
To be by dearest ties related,

For her each hour new joys discover,
And lose the husband in the lover!
May that fair bosom never know,
What 'tis to feel the restless wo,
Which stings the soul with vain regret,
Of him who never can forget.

THIS IS NOT LOVE.

I.

"YOU ask me why unseen I stray,

And waste the solitary day;

Why far my wandering path extends,

From mirth, and books, and home, and friends;

You tell me Love alone can bind

Such fetters round the yielding mind:

Ah! no; this heart doth know
No joys like Love.

II.

"Far from the vulgar ken I fly, To muse on Her averted eye;

I turn from friends to think how She

Has turned her altered cheek from me;

Mirth, books, and home-ah! how can these.
The bosom's secret pang appease!

Go, go; I do not show

One sign of Love.

III.

"It is not Love to chill and glow
Like wintry suns on beds of snow;
To chase the stifled sigh with fear;
To dry before it fall the tear;
And, last sad victory of Pride,
In smiles this inward strife to hide.
Ah! no; this cannot flow
From any Love.

BLEST spirit of my sainted friend,
Which, in this vale of misery,
So oft with mine was wont to blend,
With all an angel's sympathy;
Bending from Heaven's exalted sphere,
Ah deign again my voice to hear.

When gloomy Sorrow gives her tear,
Deep o'er my darkened eye to roll,
O then, as thou didst oft, appear
To tranquillize my troubled soul;
For soon as I perceive thee nigh
I know the shades of grief will fly.

When, as calm evening o'er the bowers,

From golden clouds her dews doth shed,

I cull the loveliest, sweetest flowers,

And, weeping, wreathe them round thy bed;
O then, light hovering o'er the soil,
With smiles of love reward my toil.

And, when my voice and lyre combine
To swell the vesper hymn of praise,
O let me hear thy harp divine,

That sounds on high to Zion's lays;
And through the silent air, my song
In strains of sweeter tone prolong.

When on thy monumental stone

I lean, and mourn in accents low, Whilst o'er the church-yard still and lone, The watchful stars of midnight glow; O then on Pity's wing descend, To whisper comfort to thy friend.

And let me hear thee softly say,

"Repress those tears, and hush that sigh, "Soon will arrive the happy day, "When here by mine thy dust will lie;

"Then in the beams of endless light,

Our blissful spirits will unite."

(94)

SCIENTIFIC INTELLIGENCE.

EUROPE is about to be presented with all the science of the Arabians, in grammar, rhetoric, and logic, in some translations from the elementary books of the East, by Lieutenant Lockett, assistant secretary in the college at Fort William. The three sciences will fill a quarto of five hundred pages.

Thomas Myers, A. M., of the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich, author of a Compendious System of Modern Geography, historical, physical, political, and descriptive, intends soon to publish, elegantly printed on a large sheet, a Statistical Table of Europe, uniting all that is most interesting in the geography of that distinguished quarter of the globe, and showing at one view the territorial extent, the military strength, and the commercial importance of each state.

Dr. Brewster, of Edinburgh, is about to publish a Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments for various purposes in the arts and sciences, with Experiments on light and colours, in one volume 8vo., with twelve plates.

Dr. Wollaston has read to the Royal Society of London, a description of his newly invented single lens micrometer. This instrument is made like a common telescope, but the focus of the lens is only 1-12th of an inch: this glass is placed behind a brass plate, through the centre of which an eye-hole is drilled; the subjects to be viewed are placed between glasses serving as object glasses, and the measure of the magnifying powers and of the subjects examined is taken by means of a certain number of wires fixed near the object glasses. The measure and number of the wires being determined, the objects may be extended to such distances as to give their dimensions by making a wire the two hundredth part of an inch to cover them. The description was illustrated by designs of the micrometer, which, the author adopted in consequence of his experiments on drawing very fine wires, some of which did not exceed the thirty thousandth part of an inch; but they were incapable of supporting themselves at this fineness, and were broken in very short pieces. He found wires, 18,000 of which covered an inch, to be the finest and strongest for any useful purpose.

A paper by Dr. Pearson, on the tinging matter of the bronchial glands of the lungs, and on the black, or tinging matter of the lungs themselves, was read. From his researches it appears that this black matter is principally charcoal in an uncombined state, or, at least, that it is only intimately mixed with a small portion of animal matter. He conceives that it is derived from the atmosphere in breathing; that it is first conveyed into the air-tubes, and from them, by means of the numerous lymphatics, into the bronchial glands, and, therefore, that it is not a secreted substance. This subject being so novel, Dr. Pearson declined entering into much reasoning, or drawing many conclusions until more facts are brought to light.