folded, with pride, all the pomp of its colors, ignorant of the short duration of its frail existence. Every where the ground was enamelled with flowers, the concaves of which glistening with dew presented so many cups full of precious liquid. The sweet-briar seemed to have turned its thorns against itself; and from the trembling of its foliage, one might think the willow feared for its life. The Narcissus, reclining its head, dropped erystal tears; and the tulip, placed beneath the rose, received in its beauteous chalice the precious rubies which distilled from the perfumed bosom of the superincumbent tree But, alas! the duration of the one is but an instant, and the other is old before the end of the day. Happy flowers! The period of their existence is determined by the setting sun, and they bloom, without anxiety for the moment that is to succeed. The philosopher, having retired with regret from this delicious place, had occasion to return a few months after. Alas! how changed! Instead of the rose-instead of the nightingale, which lately joined to embellish this happy spot, the car was struck with the piercing cries of the kite and the mournful croaking of the frog. The smiling verdure of the shrubbery, was changed into greyish gloom, and the once charming clusters of roses presented nothing but masses of pointed thorns. He cast a look of regret on the place which had so lately enchanted him, and was unable to refrain from tears as he meditated upon the short duration of existence. "We have only a few instants to live!" exclaimed he―" let us, then, endeavor to take advantage of them all to insure happiness; to effect which, there is only one mode-by consecrating them to virtue!" ON NOVELS. A French writer speaking of female education, says, that in the ancient system of female education, the chapter of things, not to be known, was of very great extent: at present, thanks to the novels, this chapter is a blank. A young girl enters into the world with her novel in her head; she has made choice of her faults before she has any; her excuses are prepared, and only await her errors; she sees in every thing that can happen to her, only one or two pages of an adventure which she has read; and she considers the reproaches which she may sustain, as similar to those reflections which she passed over in the novels, and which she may in like manner pass over in life. VOL. I. ON PUBLIC WORSHIP. LORD, at thy sacred feet We come to worship thee, Thy WORD is our delight, Thy truth will make us free; 'Tis from thyself, a heavenly light, THE ROSE-BUD. How sweet was the rose-bud that blush'd on the tree, In ELEANOR's beautiful bower! Allured by its presence, came bee after bee, A keen little worm chanced its beauty to view, It nibbled, and nibbled, and eat its way through, The fair, little dreaming how short was its date, Beheld the sweet blossom submit to its fate, Yourself but a flower, pretty maiden beware, For MAN is a worm, that oft preys on the fair, THE JOURNEY OF LOVE. NOW ANTEROS* lend me thy gossamer pinion, I fly to the seat of thy blissful dominion, For CATHARINE's breast is the mansion of love. No longer shall FORTUNE be whelm'd with invective, If love has its sorrows, yet who would refuse 'em, Lest the thorn which attends it should chance to annoy ? Separation was such-but the wound it inflicted Ah! still on my vision the object increases! Now, now am I blest. But, ah! language it fails me, Revilers of Hymen may talk of privations, THE TEAR OF BEAUTY. Deep pierced by rude misfortune's dart, The calm of peace and joy to know: When Pity, dew-eyed maid divine, Had left the radiant climes above, And shed her balm of heavenly love; And sorrow's woe-worn heart to cheer, And this shall heal misfortune's wound, SELIM. Tho' unrelenting fate's command Or should the fatal, stern decree Give license to the darts of DEATH, Would grace my relics with a TEAR. THE ROSES. Addressed to a Friend, on the Birth of his First Child. Two Roses, on one slender spray, In sweet communion grew, Together hailed the morning ray, And drank the evening dew; While sweetly wreathed in mossy green, There sprang a little bud between. Through clouds and sunshine, storms and showers, They open'd into bloom, Mingling their foliage and their flowers, Their beauty and perfume; While foster'd on its rising stem, The bud became a purple gem. But soon their summer splendor pass'd, They faded in the wind, Yet were these Roses to the last, The loevliest of their kind, Whose crimson leaves, in falling round, Adorn'd and sanctifi'd the ground. |