But 'twas something to see its cliffs once more,
And to lay his bones on his own loved shore;
To think that the friends of his youth might weep
O'er the green grass turf of the soldier's sleep!
The bugles ceased their wailing sound

As the coffin was lower'd into the ground;
A volley was fired, a blessing said,

One moment's pause,-and they left the dead!
I saw a poor and an aged man,

His step was feeble, his lip was wan :

He knelt him down on the new-raised mound,
His face was bow'd on the cold damp ground,
He raised his head, his tears were done,-
The Father had pray'd o'er his only Son!

THE SHADOW.

THOMAS GASPEY. FROM "CALTHORPE, or fallen
FORTUNES." 1821.

I SAW the black shadow pursuing my track,
"Advance ye or swiftly, or slow,"

He seem'd to say angrily, "Close at your back
I'll follow, wherever you go."

S

Flight proved unavailing.-To face him, at last

I turn'd, in a petulant whim ;

Then shrinking from me, he retreated as fast

As ever I bounded from him.

Ah, now," exclaim'd Mirth, "henceforth govern'd by me Dismiss weak regret and despair,

And banish vain terrors; for do you not see

That impudent shadow is Care? Delighting irresolute mortals to chase,

Retreat, he comes daringly on;

But meet him with laughter, it alters the case,
The coward is glad to be gone."

THE RETROSPECT.

FROM "

POEMS, BY P. M JAMES," 1821.

I WOULD not live life o'er again,

For all its joys, to share its pain;

Life's springs and pastimes tempt me not,

To wish its cares again my lot.

What though youth's devious course hath been,

A chequer'd yet a cheerful scene!

Our pleasures to the world are known,

Our silent griefs are all our own!

'Tis sweet to view, from sheltering bower,
The high-arch'd rainbow span the shower;
But he who still must 'bide the storm,
Cares little for the rainbow's form.

When memory seems to obey the will,
She fails to cull the good from ill;
But true alike to joy and wee,

She calls them both, her power to show.

Else in the eventful vale of life,

Are scenes with joy and beauty rife;
Thoughts of imagination rare,

And forms as lover's fancies fair!

These from life's troubles could we take,
Their influence heaven on earth would make;
The charm that dwells with death would fly,
For who, with these, would wish to die?

"Mr. James, (not the celebrated novellist) we understand, adds another to the catalogue of bards belonging to the Society of Friends. Not aiming so high as Bernard Barton, or J. H. Wiffen, he has struck a very musical chord, and seems gifted with those feelings which constitute the poet."

TO A FLY LOITERING NEAR A SPIDER'S WEB.

WILLIAM REID, FROM THE CITY MUSE."

HASTEN, hasten, little fly,
Pass yon artful tissue by ;
Touch it not, it is a snare-
Rise upon thy native air;
Give not hesitation breath-
Shun the netted web of death.
See beneath the ambuscade
Schemes of murder darkly laid;
There the cunning spider lies,
Gloomy foe of thoughtless flies !
Cruel with suspense it waits,
Fix'd as chance preponderates,
Watching thy adventurous limbs,
As the sunny wall thou climbs,
Wandering with exploring eye,
Seeking sweets that hidden lie.
Little know'st thou, witless thing,
What a heedless step may bring.

Pleasure thus arrays her charms,
Rapture kindling in her arms.

Rosy nectar's subtle tide

Rich in golden channels, glide!

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Laughing flowers, enwreath the cup!
Giddy mortal, drain it up
Now dissolves the potent spell,
Changing into loathsome hell;
Fell remorse and racking pain
Gnaw the vitals, fire the brain,
Darkening hope and withering thought—
Poison rankling in the draught-

Gather on the thicken'd breath
Emptied in despair and death.
Such is folly's destiny!

As with man, it is with thee:
If, alas! thou luckless stray,
Reckless of the fatal way,

Then, poor fly, thou liv'st to know
Indiscretion ends in woe.

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