Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown,
Thy sun is set, thy Spring is gone—

We frolic, while 'tis May.'

GRAY,

THE FLOWER AND THE WILLOW.

A LOVELY flower of rainbow hue
Beneath a weeping-willow grew,
But discontent proved its vexation;
It murmur'd at its situation.

While passion shook its blushing head,
It to the weeping-willow said;
"See how I'm shaded here by you;
My lovely charms are hid from view:
Beauties like mine would surely grace
An open and conspicuous place.
Why in this lonely shade must I
Unnotic'd bloom, unnotic'd die ?

To hide such charms is 'gainst all rule,
And Flora surely was a fool,

To plant so fair a flower as me
Beneath a gloomy willow-tree!"

The goddess from her fragrant bower,
O'erheard the discontented flower;
And straightway she its wishes granted;
'Twas to another place transplanted.
Beneath the Sun's resplendent ray,
Its charms were wither'd in a day.
The willow that had been its aid,
Surveyed the change, and thus she said :--

"Frail murmurer! well may'st thou lament
The fatal fruits of discontent;

For since my shelter was despis'd,
See how thy folly is chastis'd!

Why did thy pride create a care

That all who pass'd might deem thee fair?
But thou hast prov'd to thy vexation,
How dear fools pay for admiration.

To Flora's tribes, I hope thy fall
Will prove a good, and teach them all
To live contented in their stations,
Nor murmur at her dispensations."

The faded flower made no reply,—
But, trembling to the zephyr's sigh,
Bow'd down its languid head, and died,
The victim of its foolish pride.

MARY M. COLLING.

"From Nature's largest work to the least insect that frets the leaf, each has organs and feelings and habits, exactly suited to the place it has to fill. Were it other than it is, it could not fill its place-and being what it is, were it removed to any other, it would surely be less happy. The flower of the valley would die upon the mountain's top, and surely would the hardy mountaineer, now flourishing on Alpine heights, languish and die, if transplanted to the valley. The Maker of the world, then, has made no mistakes,-has done no injustice, every thing as He arranged it, is what it should be, and is placed where it should be, and none can repine, and none complain."-The Listener.

The above poem is extracted from the "Fables and Poems by Mary Maria Colling." The amiable writer is a servant in a family in the South of England; -under the generous patronage of Mrs. Bray, a volume of her poems was published. When asked what could induce her to write Fables, she replied, "when of an evening, she was amongst the flower-beds, and saw them all so lively and so beautiful, she used to fancy the flowers talked to her." This interesting publication of a self-taught genius we recommend to the attention of our readers.

ULYSSES AND HIS DOG.

THUS, near the gates conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew ;
He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;

Bred by Ulysses, nourish'd at his board,
But, ah! not fated long to please his lord!

To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain;
The voice of glory call'd him o'er the main.
Till then in every sylvan chase renown'd,
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around;
With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn,
Or trac'd the mazy leveret o'er the lawn.
Now left to man's ingratitude he lay,
Unhous'd, neglected in the public way;

And where on heaps the rich manure was spread,
Obscene, with reptiles took his sordid bed.

He knew his lord:-he knew, and strove to meet;
In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his feet;
Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes,
Salute his master and confess his joys.
Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul,
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole.

The Dog, whom Fate had granted to behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years had roll'd,
Takes a last look, and, having seen him, dies;
So clos'd for ever faithful Argus' eyes!

POPE'S HOMER, Odyss. B. xvii.

The sensibility ascribed in these lines to the Dog of Ulysses, shows how justly mankind have appreciated the noble character of these faithful and affectionate creatures, even from the most remote periods of antiquity. While almost every other animal fears man as an enemy, here is one that regards him as a companion, and after years of absence recognises him as a friend. "Everywhere it is the Dog alone, that takes delight in associating with us, in sharing our abode, and is jealous that our attention should be exclusively bestowed on him; it is he who knows us personally, who watches, and warns us of danger. It is impossible for the Naturalist, when surveying the animal creation, not to feel a conviction that this friendship between two creatures so widely different, must result from unerring laws; nor can the humane and feeling mind avoid a belief, that kindness to the animals, from which he derives such continual and essential service, is an important part of his duty."

ON A BLIGHTED ROSE-BUD.

SCARCE had thy velvet lips imbib'd the dew,
And Nature hail'd thee infant queen of May;
Scarce saw thine opening bloom the sun's broad ray,
And to the air its tender fragrance threw,

When the North wind enamour'd of thee grew;

And by his cold rude kiss thy charms decay; Now droops thy head, now fades thy blushing hue,— No more the queen of flowers, no longer gay :So blooms a maid-her guardians, health and joyHer mind array'd in innocency's vestWhen suddenly, impatient to destroy,

Death clasps the virgin to his iron breast: She fades-the parent, sister, friend, deplore Her charms and budding virtues, now no more!

MISS. C. SYMMONS.*

• The promising writer of this Sonnet died in the twelfth year of her age.

THE GROVE.

MILD-BREATHING Zephyr, father of the Spring,
Who in the verdant meads doth reign sole king,
Who, shelter'd here, shrunk from the wintry day;
And careless slept the stormy hours away,
Hath rous'd himself, and shook his feathers wet
With purple-swelling odours, and hath let
The sweet and fruitful dew fall on this ground,
To force out all the flowers that might be found.
The gaudy peacock boasts not in his train

So many lights and shadows, nor the rain

Heaven-painted bow, when that the sun doth court her, Nor purple pheasant, while her mate doth sport her

To hear him crow, and with a beauteous pride
Wave his discolour'd neck and purple side.
I have not seen the place could more surprise,
More beautiful in Nature's varied dyes.
Lo! the blue bind-weed doth itself infold
With honey-suckle, and both these entwine
Themselves with briony and jessamine
To cast a kind and odoriferous shade:

The balmy West-wind blows, and every sense
Is sooth'd and courted :-trees have got their heads,
The fields their coats, the dewy shining meads
Do boast the pansy, lily, and the rose,

And every flower doth laugh as Zephyr blows.
The seas are now more even than the earth,
Or gently swell as curl'd by Zephyr's breath;
The rivers run as smoothed by his hand;
The wanton heifer through the grassy land
Plays wildly free, her horns scarce budding yet;
While in the sunny fields the new-dropp'd lambs
Gambol, rejoicing round their milky dams.
Hark! how each bough a several music yields;
The lusty throstle, early nightingale,
Accord in tune, though vary in their tale.
The chirping swallow, call'd forth by the sun
And crested lark doth her division run.
The yellow bees the air with music fill,
The finches carol, and the turtles bill.