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And yet this strange, this sudden flight,
From gloomy cares to gay delight,
This fickleness so light and vain,
In life's delusive transient dream,

Where men nor things are what they seem,
Is all the real good we gain.

EPIGRAM.

ON A BAD DINNER WITH EXCELLENT PUNCH.

FRIEND Palo may boast of true orthodox merit, What he wants in the flesh he makes up in the spirit.

EPIGRAM.

To be French cook'd, French dress'd, French horn'd,
We've long since had a mind;
To ape French politic's, tho' scorn'd,
We now seem much inclin'd.

Observe their simple lev'ling plan,
Behold the same thing here,

They make each Peer a common Man,
We, any Man a Peer.

E. C.

LOVE AND TIME.

LOVE was a little blooming boy,

Fond, innocent, and true:

His ev'ry smile was fraught with joy, And ev'ry joy was new.

Till, stealing from his mother's side, The urchin lost his way,

And wand'ring far o'er desart's wide, Thus, weeping, pour'd his lay :

-

O Time! I'll dress thy locks of snow
With wreaths of fragrant flowers,

And all that rapture can bestow,
Shall deck thy fleeting hours.

But for one day, one little day,
Thy wings in pity spare,

That I may homeward bend my way,

For all my wreaths are there.

Time, cheated by his tears and sighs,

The wily god confest,

When soaring to his native skies,

He sought his mother's breast.

Short was his bliss, the treach'rous boy
Was hurl'd from clime to clime,

And found amidst the proudest joy,
He'd still the wings of Time.

Mrs. Robinson.

EPISTLE

FROM LORD MELCOMBE TO DR. YOUNG,

Not long before his Lordship's death.

KIND companion of my youth,
Lov'd for genius, worth, and truth!
Take what friendship can impart,
Tribute of a feeling heart;
Take the muses latest spark,
Ere we drop into the dark.

He, who parts and virtue gave,
Bade thee look beyond the grave;
Genius soars, and virtue guides,
Where the love of God presides.
There's a gulph 'twixt us and God;
Let the gloomy path be trod:
Why stand shiv'ring on the shore?
Why not boldly venture o'er?
Where unerring virtue guides,
Let us brave the winds and tides:
Safe thro' seas of doubts and fears,
Rides the bark which virtue steers.

THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

The tradition of the Wild Huntsman is a popular superstition, very generally believed by peasants in Germany.-The original of the Ballad is by Biirger.

THE Wildgrave winds his bugle horn,

. To horse! to horse! halloo! halloo!
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their Lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash thro' the bush, the brier, the brake, While answering horn, and hound, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallow'd day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And calling sinful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep, the bell had told.

But still the Wildgrave onward rides,
Halloo! halloo! and hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two stranger horsemen join'd the train.

* A German title corresponding to the Earl Warden of a royal forest.

Who was each stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell,
The right hand steed was silver white,
The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

The right hand horseman, young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight light'ning's lurid ray.

He wav'd his huntsman's cap on high,
Cry'd "welcome, welcome, noble Lord!
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,
To match the princely chace afford?"

"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,” Cry'd the fair youth, with silver voice; "And for devotion's choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.

To day the ill-omen'd chace forbear; Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To day the warning spirit hear,

To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain."

"Away and sweep the glades along,"
The sable hunter hoarse replies;
"To mutt'ring monks leave matin song,
And bells and books and mysteries."

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