Ye sparkling stars, and pale-fac'd moon,
And fount of light-resplendent sun,

Adieu! Adieu !

I journey to a blissful spot,

Where your fair light is needed not;
And through the vale of deathful gloom,
And through the darkness of the tomb,
I hasten to a better home,

Adieu! Adieu !

FOR THE BLANK PAGE OF A NEW

BIBLE.

LET not the eye that idly seeks for mirth,
Fix on this page inspir'd its roving look ;
Nor let the heart absorb'd in love of earth,
Expect its cordial from this holy book.

The upright soul that scorns deceit and art,

The eye mild gleaming thro' the contrite tear, The meek in spirit, and the pure in heart, Alone can find divine instruction here.

This sheds a lustre o'er the darken'd skies,
When the thick clouds of care and sorrow roll;
This, when the storms descend, and billows rise,
Holds a firm anchor to the troubled soul.

This, when the bloom of youth, the hour of ease, And star of fortune veil their fickle ray,

When friendship's smile, and love's fond accents cease,

Shall lead to raptures more sublime than they.

This, from the wreck of joy that hope shall bring,

Whose bright eye pierces thro' the mists of time; And from the urn of hope shall spread the wing, That wafts the spirit to a purer clime.

EVENING THOUGHT.

The evening zephyr on its wings
The sigh of recollection brings,

For days and seasons past;

And with it too, a voice it bears,
Trust to your God, your hopes and cares,
Your fears, your comforts, and your pray❜rs,
While days and seasons last.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

ON hearing her observe that "accomplishments or talents ought not to excite vanity, but to lead our hearts in gratitude to our Bountiful Creator."

SWEET is the blush of vernal rose,
And sweet the glance that beauty throws,
And fair the light whose varied ray,
Marks feeling's glow, and fancy's play;
But when in gentle accent flows,
The precept pure, that wisdom shows,
The mental eye with rapture fraught
Surveys the semblance of the thought,
And sweeter is the meed it pays,

Than that which wakes the flatterer's gaze.

And, fair one, when the hues that paint
The youthful cheek, grow dim and faint,
And when the voice of softest tone,
Must falter in its final moan,

And nought remain of life or grace,
But what the eye in tears must trace,
The pious soul from error freed,

The thought that wak'd the virtuous deed,
Shall rise above the closing tomb,

Shall bloom where blight can never come.

VAIN PURSUITS.

Some rejoice in pleasure's beam,
Some in fortune's glittering stream,
Some in beauty, some in pride,
Some in honour's treacherous tide;
While with giddy haste they pass,
Like the insect o'er the grass.

Darkness shades the fickle beam,
Dims the beauty, dries the stream,
Breaks the spell that blinds the eyes,
And with the dream, the dreamer dies.

REGARD DUE TO THE FEELINGS OF

OTHERS.

THERE is a plant that in its cell,
All trembling seems to stand,
And bend its stalk, and fold its leaves,
From each approaching hand.

And thus there is a conscious nerve,
Within the human breast,

That from the rash or careless hand,
Shrinks, and retires-distrest.

The pressure rude, the touch severe,
Will raise within the mind,

A nameless thrill, a secret tear,
A torture undefin'd.