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EMBLEMS,

L. A. H. This last tale seems to be

written by no very practised hand, By the Rev. Henry Stebbing. and the parts are not well proportion

ed; but there are some touches in There is a freshness in the air,

it of simple and homely pathos, that A brightness in the sky,

go to the heart. The embellishments As if a new-born sun was there,

are in general excellent. Next to the Just seraph-throned on high ;

Hebrew Mother, of which we have And birds, and flowers, and mountain

spoken, the Dying Babe is, in our streams,

opinion, the best. Nothing can be Rejoicing in his infant beams,

more affecting. On the whole, the Are glad as if the Winter's breath

Amulet is a very pretty, and a very Had never blown the blast of death.

agreeable, and a very instructive little Softly along the silent sea

volume. It contains, besides poetry The light-wing'd breezes creep,

and tales, some serious essays of meSo low, so calm, so tranquilly,

rit; and indeed its prevailing charac

ter They lull the waves asleep ;

may

be said to be sweet solemnity, And, oh! as gladly on the tide

that unostentatiously distinguishes it Yon lofty vessel seems to ride,

from all similar publications. As if the calmly-heaving sail

The “ Forget me Not" is little, if at Had never met a sterner gale.

all, inferior in what may be called per

sonal charms to the fairest of its rivals. And in a small, sweet covert nigh,

It is indeed most beautifully got up. Her own young hands have made, Contemplation, the Bridge of Sighs, A rosy girl hath laughingly

tlie Child's Dream, and the Cottage Her infant brother laid ;

Door, are all exquisite. Many of the And made of fresh Spring flowers his bed, compositions in prose and verse are And over him her veil hath spread, excellent-witness the following exWith looks as if for ever there

quisite lines, by the Rev. G. Croly:His form should bloom as young and fair.

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And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted :
Will it not seem as if the sunny day

Turn'd from its door away,
While, through its chambers wandering weary-hearted,
I languish for thy voice, which past me still,

Went like a singing rill ?

Under the palm-trees, thou no more shalt meet me,
When from the fount at evening I return,

With the full water urn !
Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet me,
As midst the silence of the stars I wake,

And watch for thy dear sake.

And thou,—will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee
Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed?

Wilt thou not vainly spread
Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee,
To fold my neck; and lift up, in thy fear,

A cry which none shall hear?

What have I said, my child ? - will He not hear thee,
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest ?

Will He not guard they rest,
And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy ?

Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy!

I give thee to thy God !-the God that gave thee,
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!

And precious as thou art,
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!

And thou shalt be His child!

Therefore, farewell !-I go; my soul may fail me,
As the stag panteth for the water-brooks,

Yearning for thy sweet looks!
But thou, my First-born! droop not, nor bewail me,
Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell,

The Rock of Strength-farewell !"

We cannot refrain from quoting another poem by the same distinguished writer. It has something sublime:

THE TRUMPET.

The mourner hears the thrilling call,

And rises from the earth!
The mother on her first-born son

Looks with a boding eye;-
They come not back, though all be won,

Whose young hearts leap so high.

The Trumpet's voice hath roused the

land,
Light up the beacon-pyre!
A hundred hills have seen the brand,

And waved the sign of fire !
A hundred banners to the breeze

Their gorgeous folds have cast,
"And, hark! was that the sound of seas?

A king to war went past!

The bard hath ceased his song, and bound

The falchion to his side;
E'en for the marriage altar crown'd,

The lover quits his bride!
And all this haste, and change, and fear,

By earthly clarion spread!
How will it be when 'singdoins hear

The blast that wakes the dead ?

The chief is arming in his hall,

The peasant by his hearth ;

We do not remember to have seen before the name of the writer of the verses, entitled “Emblems.” They are written with much feeling, and may be said to be even beautiful :

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I loved thee passing well;-thou wert a beam
Of pleasant beauty on this stormy sea,
With just so much of mirth as miglit redeem
Man from the musings of his misery;
Yet ever pensive, like a thing from home!
Lovely and lonely as a single star!
But kind and true to me, as thou hadst come
From thine own element—so very far,
Only to be a cynosure to eyes
Now sickening at the sunshine of the skies !
It were a crime to weep !-'tis none to kneel,
As now I kneel, before this type of thee,
And worship her, who taught my soul to feel
Such worship is no vain idolatry:-
Thou wert my spirit's spirit-and thou art,
Though this be all of thee time hath not reft,
Save the old thoughts that hang about the heart,
Like withered leaves that many storms have left ;
I turn from living looks the cold, the dull,
To any trace of thee—the lost, the beautiful!
Broken, and bow'd, and wasted with regret,
I gaze, and weep-why do I weep alone!
I would not-would not, if I could-forget,
But I am all remembrance—it hath grown
My very being !-Will she never speak?
The lips are parted, and the braided hair
Seems as it waved upon her brightening cheek,
And smile, and everything—but breath-are there !
Oh, for the voice that I have staid to hear,
Only in dreams, so many a lonely year !
It will not be ;-away, bright cheat, away!
Cold, far too cold to love !-thy look grows strange;
I want the thousand thoughts that used to play,
Like lights and shadowings, in chequer'd change ;
That smile!_I know thou art not like her, now,-
Within her land-where'er it be of light,
She smiles not while a cloud is on my brow:-
When will it pass away—this heavy night!
Oh! will the cool clear morning never come,

And light me to her, in her spirit's home! Mr Montgomery cannot write anything, however slight, that is not pregnant with piety.

Common-place truths are so presented in the following singular little poem, as to strike the heart like a knell. This is the triumph of genius.

Q. Nature, whence sprang thy glorious QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS,

frame?

A. My Maker called me and I came. Q. Flowers, wherefore do ye bloom? A. We strew thy pathway to the tomb.

Q Winds, whence and whither do ye

blow? Q. Stars, wherefore do ye rise ?

A. Thou must be “born again,” to know. A. To light thy spirit to the skies.

Q. Ocean, what rules thy swell and fall ? Q. Fair moon, why dost thou wane? A. The might of Him that ruleth all. A. That I may wax again.

Q. Planets, what guides you in your Q. O sun, what makes thy beams so

course ? bright?

A. Unseen, unfelt, unfailing force. A. The Word that said" Let there be light.”

Q. O life, what is thy breath ?

A. A vapour, vanishing in death.
Q. Time, whither dost thou flee?
A. I travel to eternity.

Q. O grave, where is thy victory?

A, Ask Him who rose again from me. Q. Eternity, what art thou, say? A, I was, am, will be ever more, to-day. Q. O death, where ends thy strife ?

A. In everlasting life. VOL. XIX.

M

Where art thou, proud ATLANTIS, now? next year, for giving interest to its pages.

Where are thy briglit and brave ? The difficulties of his situation have, howPriest, people, warriors' living flow? ever, been greatly relieved, by the kind. Look on that wave!

ness and promptitude with which assist

ance has been given to him, in almost Crime deepen’d on the recreant land, every quarter in which the limited time Long guilty, long forgiven;

permitted an application :-and, whilst There power upreard the bloody hand, he has thus been enabled to present to There scoff'd at Heaven,

the public, on the present occasion, a very

splendid assemblage of names and talent, The word went forth the word of woe- -the promises which he has received of

The judgment-thunders pealed ; continued and additional assistance, next The fiery earthquake blazed below; year, afford reason to hope that it will Its doom was seal'd.

have still increased claims to popularity.

" The readers of the FRIENDSHIP's Now on its halls of ivory

OFFERING,' will perceive that the alterLie giant weed and ocean slime, ations in its plan consist in the removal Burying from man's and angel's eye of all those features which marked it as The land of crime.

more peculiarly adapted for one season of

the year than another; and in the disMr Ackermann was, we believe, missal of its more toy-like attributes, for among the first of the booksellers who the purpose of combining, with the in. published volumes of this kind in creased beauty of its embellishments, a England, and we strongly recommend high literary character. his “ Forget me Not,” both on that “Whilst acknowledging his obligations account and its own intrinsic merits, to the many friends who have given bim which are great and manifold. the use of their names and talents, the

We come now to speak of “Friend- Editor may escape the imputation of pership's Offering," and its new editor, sonał vanity, in expressing his confidence Mr Hervey. But first let Mr Her

that the Work has attained the character vey speak for himself:

at which it aimed ; because little merit The present Volume of the 'FRIEND

can be due to him, for the moral or liteship's OFFERING' is presented to the

rary excellence of a miscellany, which public, under circumstances which render

has been fortunate enough to obtain such a few observations necessary. It has,

contributions as those which fill the pages very recently, come into its present Edi

of this volume.” tor's hands, with a view to an entire Mr Hervey has acquitted himself change in its character and plan; and, admirably in his editorial capacity; under the disadvantage of that fact, he and, like Mr Watts, is himself one of has, of course, found it impossible to his own very best contributors. There avail himself of all those sources which is much passion-much poetry in the he has reason to believe are open to him, following fine stanzas :

TO THE PICTURE OF A DEAD GIRL, ON FIRST SEEING IT.
The same and oh, how beautiful !- the same
As memory meets thee through the mist of years -
Love's roses on thy cheek, and feeling's flame
Lighting an eye unchanged in all--but tears !
Upon thy severed lips the very smile
Remember'd well, the sunlight of my youth;
But gone the shadow that would steal, the while,
To mar its brightness, and to mock its truth!-
Once more I see thee, as I saw thee last,
The lost restored, the vision of the past !

How like to what thou wert--and art not now!
Yet oh, how more resembling what thou art !
There dwells no cloud upon that pictured brow,
As sorrow sits no longer in thy heart;
Gone where its very wishes are at rest,
And all its throbbings huslı'd, and achings heal'd ;-
I gaze, till half I deem thee to my breast,
In thine immortal loveliness, revealid,
And see thee, as in some permitted dream,
There where thou art what here thou dost but seem!

I loved thee passing well;—thou wert a beam
Of pleasant beauty on this stormy sea,
With just so much of mirth as miglit redeem
Man from the musings of his misery;
Yet ever pensive, like a thing from home!
Lovely and lonely as a single star!
But kind and true to me, as thou hadst come
From thine own element—so very far,
Only to be a cynosure to eyes
Now sickening at the sunshine of the skies !
It were a crime to weep !-'tis none to kneel,
As now I kneel, before this type of thee,
And worship her, who taught my soul to feel
Such worship is no vain idolatry:
Thou wert my spirit's spirit and thou art,
Though this be all of thee time hath not reft,
Save the old thoughts that hang about the heart,
Like withered leaves that many storms have left ;
I turn from living looks—the cold, the dull,
To any trace of thee--the lost, the beautiful!
Broken, and bow'd, and wasted with regret,
I gaze, and weep—why do I weep alone!
I would not-would not, if I could forget,
But I am all remembrance-it hath grown
My very being !-Will she never speak?
The lips are parted, and the braided hair
Seems as it waved upon her brightening cheek,
And smile, and everything—but breath-are there !
Oh, for the voice that I have staid to hear,
-Only in dreams,—so many a lonely year!
It will not be ;--away, bright cheat, away!
Cold, far too cold to love !-thy look grows strange;
I want the thousand thoughts that used to play,
Like lights and shadowings, in chequer'd change ;
That smile! I know thou art not like her, now,-
Within her land-where'er it be-of light,
She smiles not while a cloud is on my brow:-
When will it pass away—this heavy night!
Oh! will the cool clear morning never come,

And light me to her, in her spirit's home! Mr Montgomery cannot write anything, however slight, that is not pregnant with piety. Common-place truths are so presented in the following singular little poem, as to strike the heart like a knell. This is the triumph of genius.

Q. Nature, whence sprang thy glorious QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS,

frame?

A. My Maker called me and I came. Q. Flowers, wherefore do ye bloom? A. We strew thy pathway to the tomb.

Q Winds, whence and whither do ye

blow? Q. Stars, wherefore do ye rise ?

A. Thou must be “born again,” to know. A. To light thy spirit to the skies.

Q. Ocean, what rules thy swell and fall? Q. Fair moon, why dost thou wane? A. The might of Him that ruleth all. A. That I may wax again.

Q. Planets, what guides you in your Q. O sun, what makes thy beams so

course? bright?

A. Unseen, unfelt, unfailing force. A. The Word that said" Let there be light.”

Q. O life, what is thy breath ?

A. A vapour, vanishing in death.
Q. Time, whither dost thou flee?
A. I travel to eternity.

Q. O grave, where is thy victory?
Q. Eternity, what art thou, say?

A. Ask Him who rose again from me. A, I was, am, will be ever more, to-day. Q. O death, where ends thy strife ?

A. In everlasting life. VOL. XIX.

M

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