To Correspondents. 66 The following have been received, and will appear : "R. J. S.," "W. R. S.," "H. C. (Cork)," "H. G. (Liverpool)," "G. L.," "A Subscriber," "Ida," ," "M. L.," " Ariette (Haddington)," "R. R. (Stockton)," "J. L. C.," "M. F.," "A Subscriber," "Mrs. F. (Stroud)," "J. T. L. (Nottingham)," "J. T. T. (Dalston)," "J. H. C. W.," "Mrs. Nutter (Carlisle)," "R. C. M." The following are not quite equal to our design: "M. O. W. (Glasgow)," "W. N. L. (Ipswich)," "J. S. S. (Rotherham.)" NOTICE. No. 7 will appear on April 15th. Part I. of Beautiful Poetry is now ready, sewn in a wrapper, price 18. No. 3 of Wit and Humour is published this day. No. 1 of Wit and Humour is reprinting and will be ready on Monday next. FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS. The following beautiful poem is by Miss FRANCES BROWN, a young lady who has contributed largely to The Athenæum. It was taken from one of the periodicals, some three or four years ago. "FAREWELL! farewell! bright children of the sun, Ye came, the children of the spring's bright promise; And now, when autumn's wealth is passing from us, Ye will return again; the early beams Of spring will wake ye from your wintry sleep, Of the deep valleys, by old woods o'erhung, But when will they return, our flowers that fell In silent hearts and homes? The summer's dew And summer's sun, with all their balm and brightness, But to the locks grown dim with early whiteness, Its perish'd bloom once more? In vain, in vain! Years come and years depart; G But still the ancient earth renews around us Thus sang the bard, when autumn's latest gold THE SHEPHERD TO HIS FAIR ONE. HERRICK belonged to the Elizabethan age of our literature, and he breathes in every line the intensity of poetical thought and expression that distinguishes all the dramatists and poets of that age of poetry. How full of imagination, and yet how sportive in its tone and play of thought, is this. LIVE, live with me, and thou shalt see Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by I'll give thee chains and carcanets Of primroses and violets. These, nay, and more, thine own shall be, MILTON ON HIS BLINDNESS. The author of this poem is not known, nor are we informed where it appeared originally. It well deserves a place and preservation here. I AM old and blind! Men point at me as smitten by God's frown; Yet I am not cast down. I am weak, yet strong; I murmur not that I no longer see; O merciful One! When men are furthest, then Thou art most near; Thy glorious face Is leaning towards me; and its holy light On my bended knee I have nought to fear; O! I seem to stand, Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng; It is nothing now, When Heaven is opening on my sightless eyes— In a purer clime My being fills with rapture-waves of thought Give me now my lyre! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine; A SLEEPING YOUTH. This fine classical picture of a youth reclining in slumber is taken from Endymion, the earliest production of the youthful pen of KEATS, who is said to have been killed by the criticism it provoked in the Edinburgh Review. Certainly posterity has not confirmed the judgment of the reviewer. What a flood of finest poetry is here! AFTER a thousand mazes overgone, At last, with sudden step, he came upon |