FLOWERS.

Au sein d'un Fleur tour à tour, &c.

Chazet.

IN

every

flower that blooms around,

Some pleasing emblem we may trace; Young Love is in the myrtle found, And MEMORY in the pansey's grace. PEACE in the olive-branch we see,

HOPE in the half-shut Iris glows;

In the bright Laurel, VICTORY!

And lovely WOMAN in the Rose.

THE LAST DAYS

OF

A YOUNG POET *.

Mes enemis rians ont dit dans leur colére. &c.

Gilbert.

My enemies, exulting, cry in wrath,

"He dies! with him his glories shall decay!" But to my calm heart, GoD, my Father, saith"Their hate, their envious hate shall be thy stay.

The original verses, which possess an innate beauty baffling all translation, were written by Nicholas Joseph James Gilbert, a young Frenchman of great talent, but

"On thee, the pity, and the justice too,

Of the corruptless future shall await;
And the vile arts that did thy fame pursue,
Shall purify what they would stain in hate."

Oh, blessed by my God! who thus bestows
Celestial Innocence, and its noble pride;
Who, to preserve my dust in its repose,

Will watch, my coffin graciously beside.

A hapless feaster at life's idle feast

Was I for my brief day—and now I die— I die, and o'er the tomb that shades my rest, No friend shall come to weep-no heart shall sigh.

whose life was most unhappy. Some months before his death he became deranged, and in his delirium imagined that the whole world conspired against him. This terror brought him insensibly to the grave. He carried with him to the Hotel Dieu, where he was confined, his portfolio, containing his writings; and imagining that his attendants had determined on opening it, he swallowed the key, and died in consequence. He was in his 27th year.

Fields, whose soft verdure I have loved-farewell! Gay exile of the woods!-thou, Heaven sublime, Man's canopy!-and Nature's cherished spell!Farewell! I greet ye now for the last time!

But for long years be all your beauties seen
By those dear friends, deaf to my parting sighs—
May they die full of days-and, though serene,

Be their deaths wept-may one friend close their eyes!

FAITHFUL LOVE.

Jeune j'aimai;-
i;-ce tems de mon bel-age, &c.

Madame d'Hondetot.

In youth, dear season of delight,

To love I gave my burning sighs:Yet swift was youth's delicious flight,And Prudence warned me to be wise:

But still I loved:-the caution vain

Little of wisdom could impart― It glanced upon my mind and brain,

But oh, it never reached my heart.