Pajarero. His sins to his fellow men upon earth were expiated; let us hope that he may find mercy in heaven. Peace to his soul!"

OH! WOULD I WERE A CHILD AGAIN!

[From the "Juvenile Forget-me-not."]

On! would I were a child again, a child with spirit free,
Singing glad songs of merriment beneath the hawthorn tree;
Watching the many-coloured clouds pursue their course on high,
Trying to count the silver stars that gem the evening sky;
Weaving, beside the sparkling stream, a wreath of summer flowers,
Or reading wondrous fairy tales in green sequestered bowers.
The sights, the sounds of nature, then my happy hours beguiled;
Would I could feel her power again—Oh! would I were a child.

I chose my sprightly playmates for simplicity and mirth;
I recked not of the lofty, or the sage ones of the earth;
Laden with gifts by lavish friends, I asked no monied store,
Save to relieve the beggar's wants who wandered to my door;
I wrote my artless verses without effort, toil, or aim;

I read them to a listening group without a hope of fame :

By grovelling schemes, by worldly views, my thoughts were undefiled: Would I were now as free from care-Ohl would I were a child.

Yet soon my youthful heart began to spurn a life like this;
I deemed the far-off glittering world a fairy land of bliss;

I left my playmates to their sports-bright dreams came o'er me then,
Of stirring scenes, of crowded halls, high dames, and gifted men:

And, while
my short and simple tasks with careless speed I conned,
I sighed to study learned lore my feeble power beyond;
Like Rasselas, around me while the happy valley smiled,
I longed to quit its limits, and to cease to be a child.

Lord! I recall my heedless wish: still let me, day by day,
Beneath thy pure all-seeing eye, pursue my humble way;
The steep and rugged hill of life with cheerful patience climb,
Trusting to reach fair Zion's land at thy appointed time;

Or, if
my hurried prayer in part thou deignest to fulfil,
Grant that with infant meekness I may ever wait thy will;
Aid me to school my rebel heart, to calm my fancies wild,
And make me, in submissive love, indeed a little child.

MRS. ABDY,

LINES ON THE WANING YEAR.

[From "Poems by H. ROGERS."]

Again thou'rt here-thou waning year!
(The joys of summer fled)

Crown'd with thy chaplet dry and sear→
A wreath already dead:

While each tempestuous breath of air,
Leaves thee more leafless and more bare,
And whistles o'er thy head,

Now autumn's tempest, passing by,

Are heralding a darker sky,

As stood that fabled form of grief

When all she loved was gone,

(Strewn like the faded autumn's leaf,)
And left her all alone:
Too desolate to weep a tear,
All broken-hearted stood she there,
Till chilled to very stone:
So nature wears the frozen eye
Of joyless, reckless apathy.

How desolate she looketh forth,
From all her beauty riven!

Scarce smiled the summer flowers on earth,
Scarce shone the sun in heaven,
When heavy winter treads the sky,
And sweeps her pride and glory by;
And on his tempest driven,

Sails many a withered leaf and flower,

That sunn'd themselves in summer's bower.

Thou fading year-thou sky of storm,
That seem'st the shroud of all;
And over summer's faded form
Dost spread thy sullen pall!
How like, thou changing sky, to man,
Whose hopes scarce pass an hour's span,
When they are doomed to fall!
Man-Man! the creature of a day,
Who smiles and weeps, then dies away.

TO AN INFANT.

[BY MRS. HEMANS ]

Thou wak'st from happy sleep to play,
With bounding heart, my boy!
Before thee lies a long bright day
Of summer and of joy!

Thou hast no heavy thought or dream,
To cloud thy fearless eye;-
Long be it thus !-life's early stream
Should still reflect the sky!

Yet,-ere the cares of earth lie dim,
On thy young spirit's wings,-
Now, in thy morn, forget not Him
From whom each pure thought springs.

So, in thy onward vale of tears,
Where'er thy path may be,

When strength hath bowed to evil years,
He will remember thee!

POETRY.

BY CALDER CAMPBELL.

[From the "Forget-me-not." 1837.]

"Where find ye Poetry?" Go, look abroad,
Go forth and meet it in each blade of grass;
In every bell of dew, that on the sod
Makes for the butterflies a looking-glass;
In every sunbeam, and in every shade,

In the stream's murmur, and the wild bird's song;
In merry cricket's chirp the weeds among ;
In sunny meadow and in gloomy glade!
"Where find ye Poetry?" The fertile earth
Is one fair volume, filled with thoughts sublime;
And he, who worships nature, and looks forth
With pondering spirit on the course of time,
Shall in each page find sweetest poetry :
Religion, Beauty, Truth, Sublimity!