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The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that

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The bower where he sat with Wife, Children, and Friends.

The day-spring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow, Alone on itself for enjoyment depends;

But drear is the twilight, of age, if it borrow

No warmth from the smiles of Wife, Children, and Friends.

Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish
The laurel which o'er her dead favourite bends;
O'er me wave the Willow! and long may it flou-
rish,

Bedew'd with the tears of Wife, Children, and
Friends.

Let us drink,-for my song, growing graver and graver,

To subjects too solemn insensibly tends;

Let us drink-pledge me high-Love and Virtue shall flavour

The glass which I fill to-Wife, Children, and
Friends.

STANZAS ON WOMAN.

CAPTAIN COLLINS.

WHO in this world of care and strife
Doth kindly cheer and sweeten life,
As friend, companion, and as wife?

'Tis Woman.

Who by a thousand tender wiles,
By fond endearments, and by smiles,
Our bosoms of their grief beguiles?
'Tis Woman.

From whom do our best comforts flow? Who draws the scorpion sting of woe, And bids our hearts with transport glow? 'Tis Woman.

Eden she lost, ensnar'd to vice,
But well has she repaid the price,
For earth is made a Paradise

By Woman.

Who, of a nature more refin'd,

Doth mollify man's ruder mind,

And make him gentle, meek, and kind?

'Tis Woman.

Who links us all to one another

By silken bands of Son and Mother, Of Husband, Father, Sister, Brother? 'Tis Woman.

When, hours of absence past, we meet,
Say, who enraptur'd flies to greet
Our glad return with kisses sweet?

'Tis Woman.

Who by a touch, a word, a sigh,
The simple glancing of her eye,
Can fill the soul with raptures high?

'Tis Woman.

Place me upon some dreary shore,
Round which the angry tempests roar,
My constant soul should still adore

Dear Woman.

Bid me, with mandate stern, prepare
Το cope with famine, death, despair,
All, all my dauntless soul would dare
For Woman.

Send me to mountains white with snow,
Where chilling winds for ever blow,
Even there contented would I go

With Woman.

Deep, deep within the cliff's cold side
I'd dig a cavern for my bride,

And there my treasure would I hide,
My own dear Woman.

THE VIRGIN'S FIRST LOve.

MRS OPIE.

YES-Sweet's the delight, when our blushes impart The youthful affection that glows in the heart; When Prudence, and Duty, and Reason approve The timid delight of the Virgin's first love.

But if the fond Virgin be destin'd to feel
A passion she must in her bosom conceal,
Lest a parent in anger the flame disapprove,
Where's then the delight of the Virgin's first love?

If stolen the glance by which love is confess'd,
If the sigh, when half-heav'd, be with terror sup-
press'd,

If the whisper of passion suspicion must move, Where's then the delight of the Virgin's first love?

Or, if her fond bosom with tenderness sighs
For one who has ceas'd her affection to prize,
Forgetting the vows with which warmly he strove
To gain the soft charm of the Virgin's first love:

If, tempted by int'rest, he venture to shun
The gentle affection his tenderness won,
With another through passion's soft mazes to rove,
Where's then the delight of the Virgin's first love?

See her eye, when the tale of his falsehood she hears, Now beaming with scorn, and now glist'ning with

tears;

How great is the anguish she's destin'd to prove! Farewell the delight of the Virgin's first love.

No more soft emotion shall glow on her cheek,
But paleness her bosom's fond agony speak;
And dimm'd by affliction that eye now shall prove,
Which spoke the soft warmth of the Virgin's first
love.

And see, sad companion of mental distress,

Disease steals upon her in Health's flatt'ring dress! Sure the blush on that cheek ev'ry fear must re

move:

Ah, no! seek its cause in the Virgin's first love.

Still brightens the colour that glows in her cheek; Her eye boasts a lustre no language can speak; Oh! vain are the hopes these appearances move; Fond parent! they spring from the Virgin's first love.

And now, quite unconscious that fate hovers near, On her face see the smile of contentment appear: No struggle, no groan, his dread summons to prove, Death ends the fond dream of the Virgin's first love.

STANZAS WRITTEN AT SPITHEAD, AFTER A SHIPWRECK.

ANONYMOUS.

HARK to the knell !

It comes on the swell

Of the stormy ocean wave; 'Tis no earthly sound,

But a toll profound

From the Mariners' deep sea-grave.

When the billows dash,

And the signals flash,

And the thunder is on the gale;

And the ocean is white

In its own wild light,

Deadly, and dismal, and pale:

When the lightning's blaze

Smites the seaman's gaze,

And the sea rolls in fire and in foam,

And the surge's roar

Shakes the rocky shore,

We hear the sea-knell come.

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And still their dirge

Is sung by the surge,

When the stormy night-winds blow.

M

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