And aye when Eve in grateful hour
Sheds odours from her dewy wings,
The unknown seeks his mystic bower,
And to the expectant fair one springs :

In frantic passion's giddy whirl

Past, quickly past, his transient stay,
He still eludes the curious girl,

And steals unseen, unfelt, away;

Ere from the bosom of the Night
Young Twilight scents the matin air,
And in her gray vest rises light

Spangled with gems her musky hair.

ENERGETIC EFFECTS of HOPE on YOUTHFUL GENIUS.

[From the PLEASURES of HOPE, by T. CAMPBELL.]
ONGENIAL Hope! thy passion kindling power,

On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand,
I see the light, and wave thy golden wand.

hour!

"Go, Child of Heaven! (thy winged words proclaim)
'Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame!
Lo! Newton, priest of Nature, shines afar,
Scans the wide world, and numbers ev'ry star!
Wilt thou, with him mysterious rites apply,
And watch the shrine with wonder beaming eye!
Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art profound,
The speed of light, the circling march of sound;
With Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery wing,
Or yield the lyre of Heav'n another string.

"The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bow'rs,
His winged insects, and his rosy flow'rs;
Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train
With sounding horn, and counts them on the plain-
So once, at Heav'n's command, the wand'rers came
To Eden's shade, and heard their various name.

"Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime,
Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more sublime;
Calm as the fields of Heav'n, his sapient eye
The lov'd Athenian lifts to realms on high,
Admiring Plato on his spotless page,

Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage:

'Shall Nature bound to earth's diurnal span The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man?'

"Turn, child of Heav'n, thy rapture-lighten'd eye
To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh:
Hark from bright spires that gild the Delphian height,
From streams that wander in eternal light,

Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell
The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell;
Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow,
And Pythia's awful organ peals below.

"Belov'd of Heav'n! the smiling muse shall shed
Her moonlight naio on thy beauteous head;
Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfin'd,
And breath a holy madnes o'er thy mind.
I see thee roam her guardian pow'r beneath,
And talk with spirits on the midnight heath:
Inquire of guilty wand rers whence they came,
And ask each blood-stained form his earthly name;
Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell,
And read the trembling world the tales of hell.

"When Venus, thron'd in clouds of rosy hue,
Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew;
And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ,
Sacred to love, and walks of tender joy ;
A milder mood the goddess shall recall,
And soft as dew thy tones of music fall;
While Beauty's deeply-pictur'd smiles impart
A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart-
Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain,
And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain.

"Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem,
And steep thy song in mercy's mellow stream;
To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile-
For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile;-
On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief,
And teach impassion'd souls the joy of grief?

"Yes; to thy tongue shall seraph words be giv n,
And pow'r on earth to plead the cause of Heav'n;
The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone,
That never mus'd on sorrow but its own,
Unlocks a generous store at thy command,
Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand.
The living lumber of his kindred earth,
Charm'd into soul, receives a second birth;

Feels

Feels thy dread pow'r another heart afford,
Whose passion-touch'd harmonious strings accord
True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan;
And man, the brother, lives the friend of man!

Bright as the pillar rose at Heav'n's command,
When Israel march'd along the desert land,
Blaz'd through the night on lonely wilds afar
And told the path-a never-setting star:
So, heav'nly Genius, in thy course divine,
Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine."

The QUEEN of SHEBA'S TRIAL of the WISDOM of SOLOMON.

[From the PICTURES of POETRY, by ALEXANDER THOMPSON, ESQ.]

EPODE.

now Bathsheba's son

WHis fancy's course had run,

With loud acclaim the vaulted arches rung;
And Sheba's royal dame,

Whose praise was more than fame,

Extoll'd his tuneful skill with honied tongue.
Then from her seat she graceful rose,
And that bright hour of triumph chose
Once more that Wisdom's sea to sound,
Whose depth she yet had never found.
In either hand a flow'ry wreath she bore;
Spontaneous one in Nature's garden grew,
And one by mimic Art's deceitful lore,
In all was form'd alike of shape and hue.

"Great King," she said, "call forth thy judgment's pow'r, "And tell me, which is Art's, and which is Nature's flow'r?"

STROPHE.

The judge renown'd, whose threat'ning sword,

A mother to her child restor'd*,

Now felt his heart begin to fail,

And turn'd with rage and terror pale;
He look'd, and look'd again,

But all he found in vain;

So well could Art her garland weave,
As might the keenest glance deceive,
Till Vision, after many an effort vain,
In deep despair, the fruitless task resign'd:

* 1 Kings, chap. ill. 24, et seq.

And

And Doubt, fell tyrant of the troubled brain,
Took full possession of the monarch's mind,
Plung'd in a shoreless sea of thought profound,

And seiz'd his wand'ring eyes, and nail'd them to the ground.

ANTISTROPHE.

His peers beheld th' approaching shame,

And trembled for their master's fame;
Each bent on him a mournful look,
And each his beard with terror shook.
'Twas hard that he who knew
Each plant on ground that grew,
From the low hyssop on the wall,
To lofty Leb'non's cedar tall *:

'Twas hard that Wisdom's pride should thus be stain'd,
Be humbled thus, and by a female too;

That him, whose judgment had such triumphs gain'd,
So weak a trifle should at last subdue.

Arabia's queen, with secret pleasure smil'd,

And thought, at length, indeed, this mighty sage is foil'd.

A band of busy bees

He there with rapture sees:

For Wisdom well can use the gifts of Chance.
With instant voice he gives command,

That one of those who nearest stand

The casement strait should open wide,
And leave these insects to decide.

He spoke, and it was done-the copious swarm,
With buzzing murmurs, fill'd the spacious hall;
And, led by Instinct's sure, unerring charm,
Upon the flow'r of Nature settled all.-

The admiring crowd resum'd his praise again;

And cried, that such a prince o'er all the world should reign.

The RETURN of CHRISTMAS welcomed, with REFLECTIONS on its ANCIENT FESTIVALS.

[From the HoP GARDEN, a DIDACTIC POEM, by LUKE BOOKER, L.L.D.]

CHRISTMAS!

STMAS! hail :

Throughout the world

Long may thy ancient harmless customs live ;
And long be interchang'd thy greetings kind
Between poor mortal sojourners of life!

1 Kings, chap. iv. 33.

-For,

-For, hark! the cold North blows, and mutual aid
Is needed to defeat its cruel rage.

Heap high the fire; and, O ye Lares! smile;
And, Innocence! with Plenty, hither bring
Hilarity while Friendship brims the cup
With home brew'd ale, and ev'ry welcom'd guest
Forgets the storm.-But ah! forget not, thou,
Steward of Heav'n! whose purse distends with gold,-
Forget not those who from the pitiless blast
But ill are shielded, and to whose pale lip
Enough of homeliest food scarce ever comes.
No blazing hearth is theirs,-no cheering draught
Of ale nectareous.-Yonder hut approach;
Thro' whose small trellis and old chinky walls
A few faint embers, coldly glimmering, shew
Distress which Pity will not view unmov'd,
Nor mercy unreliev'd-white-bearded age,
Shaken not more by palsy than by cold;
A widow'd daughter solacing his woes,
Yet needing much herself a comforter;
A brood of orphans, whose sustaining sire,
Before his parent, death has snatch'd away :
Gone their last morsel too-long since :-behold,
They famish in despair!--Their humble latch,
O Christian! lift, and bless them-bless thyself!
Light in each face the smiles of wond'ring joy,
And in thy breast 'wake raptures, which no Muse
Can paint, and only Pity's self can feel.

Nor, at this season, shou'd or bird or beast,
Depriv'd of Nature's largess, be shut out
From thy benignant dole. The feathery tribe
That sadly-silent, perch on rime-clad trees,-
Their plumes all ruffled-lo! by hunger press'd,
They seek thy tutelage, and piteous crave
A timely pittance of unvalued crumbs.
This now supply: and, when the pow'r returns,
Their grateful warblings shall repay the boon.
Confine not to the red breast and the wren
Thy winter bounty: pensioners alike
Are birds of ev'ry wing,-the blackbird sweet
And thrush; tho' they, unbidden, make their fare
Thy blushing fruit. His ear, alas! how surd,
Who prizes not such choristers ;—who deems
No meet requital, for the tithe they claim,
Their dulcet symphonies!-Nor be denied
The felon sparrow, though he filch thy grain,
And pay no recompence in tuneful song.
-While frowns all nature, let whate'er can fee!
Feel comfort from the charity of man.