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render men as renowned as the most prosperous achievements, provided they sustain them with magnanimity.'
The unhappy monarch, however, was not to be consoled; his tears continued to flow. ‘Allah Acbar!' exclaimed he; 'when did misfortunes ever equal mine?'
From this circumstance, the hill, which is not far from the Padul, took the name of Feg Allah Acbar: but the point of view commanding the last prospect of Granada, is known among Spaniards by the name of The last sigh of the Moor.'
The Child of Earth.—Mrs. Norton.
Fainter her slow step falls from day to day,
Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow; Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say,
I am content to die—but, oh! not now!Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring
Make the warm air such luxury to breathe Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing
Not while the bright flowers round my footsteps wreathe.
The season's viewless boundary is past;
Oh! must this glimpse of beauty be the last? · Let me not perish while o’er land and sea,
With silent steps, the Lord of li ht moves on; For while the murmur of the mountain-bee Greets
dull ear with music in its tone: Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my browI am content to die!—but, oh! not now!! Summer is gone: and autumn's soberer hues
Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn;The huntsman swift the flying game pursues,
Shouts the halloo! and winds his eager horn. Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze
On the broad meadows and the quiet stream,
Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam!
Drift without echo to the whitening ground;
Winter stalks on with frozen mantle bound: Yet still that prayer ascends. “Oh! laughingly
My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd,
And the roof rings with voices light and loud;
Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread:
The child of earth is numbered with the dead! • Thee never more the sunshine shall awake,
Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane;
Nor fond familiar voice arouse again!
On Visiting a Scene of Childhood. Blackwood's MAG.
“I came to tne place of my birth, and saiil, “The friends of my youth, where are they?' and Echo answered, 'Wheie are they?'”
Long years had elapsed since I gazed on the scene,
- All scattered !-all sundered by mountain and wave,
-our hopes but a gleam,
ERE, in the northern gale,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.
The mountains that infold
That guard the enchanted ground.
I roam the woods that crown
On the green fields below.
My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sweetest of the year.
Where now the solemn shade,
The valleys sick with heat?
Let in through all the trees Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; Their sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze,
Twinkles, like beams of light.
The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, Shines with the image of its golden screen,
And glimmerings of the sun.
But ’neath yon crimson tree,
Her blush of maiden shame.
Oh, Autumn! why so soon
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave thee wild and sad!
Ah! 't were a lot too blest
To rove and dream for aye;
And leave the vain low strife
And waste its little hour.
Early Recollections.-New. MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
It is delightful to fling a glance back to our early years, and recall our boyish actions, glittering with the light of hope, and the sanguine expectations of incipient being. But the remembrance of our sensations, when we were full of elasticity, when life was new, and every sense and relish keen, when the eye saw nothing but a world of beauty and glory around, every object glittering in golden resplendency, is the most agreeable thing of all.
The recollection of boyish actions gives small gratification to persons of mature years, except for what may, perchance, be associated with them. But youthful sensations, experienced when the edge of enjoyment was most keen, and the senses exquisitely susceptible, furnish delightful recollections, that cling around some of us, in the last stage of life, like the principle of being itself. How do we recollect the exquisite taste of a particular fruit or dish to have been then! how delicious a cool draught from the running stream! A landscapé, a particular tree, a field, how much better defined and delightfully colored then, than they ever appeared afterwards. There was a single tree opposite the door of my
father's house:--I remember, even now, how every limb branched off, and that I thought no tree could be finer or larger. I loved its shade; I played under it for years; but when I visited it, after my first absence for a few months from home,