TO MARIA.

BY MR. P. L. COURTIER.

ADIEU, Maria! we must part;
Fate's sternest mandate I obey;
Yet, let remembrance touch thy heart,
And think of him who's far away.

Alas! that all which life supplies,
Are transient joys and lasting pain;
Soft hopes, to glad our weary eyes,

And time, to shew those hopes were vain.

१

REMONSTRANCE TO WINTER.

AH! why, unfeeling Winter, why
Still flags thy torpid wing?
Fly, melancholy Season, fly-
And yield the year to Spring.

Spring, the young cherubim of love,
An exile in disgrace,-

Flits o'er the scene, like Noah's dove,
Nor finds a resting place.

When on the mountain's azure peak,

Alights her fairy form,

Cold blow the winds,-and dark and bleak,

Around her rolls the storm.

If to the valley she repair,

For shelter and defence,

Thy wrath pursues the mourner there,

And drives her, weeping, thence.

She seeks the brook-the faithless brook,

Of her unmindful grown,

Feels the chill magic of thy look,

And lingers into stone.

She wooes her embryo-flowers, in vain,
To rear their infant heads;

-Deaf to her voice, her flowers remain
Enchanted in their beds.

In vain she bids the trees expand
Their green, luxuriant charms;
-Bare in the wilderness they stand,
And stretch their withering arms.

Her favourite birds, in feeble notes,
Lament thy long delay;

And strain their little stammering throats,

To charm thy rage away.

Ah! why, usurping Winter, why
Still flags thy frozen wing?
Fly, unrelenting tyrant, fly-
And yield the year to Spring!

ALCEUS.

CANZONET.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLEVAL.

RECLINED on beds of fragrant flowers,
Where winds the murmuring stream along,
Alone, I pass the tranquil hours,

And hear the simple woodland song!

So sweet this spot, where comes no care,
I'd not for worlds its charms resign:
But ô Ianthe! dearest fair!

Most gladly for one kiss of thine.

R. A. D.

THE SIGH.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY, ON HER INTRODUCTION INTO HIGH LIFE.

BY MR. MAUNDE.

ON Pleasure's gladsome wing repair
Where varied joys unite to meet thee;
Where high-born Lords, with flattering air,
And tender accents press to greet thee.
Yet if, amidst the splendid scene,
One softer thought should intervene,
One sigh should from thy bosom flee,
Oh! may that sigh be breath'd for me.

Let Fancy's magic power awhile
Transport thy lover to thy view,
Whose constant round of irksome toil
Each morning's light must still renew:
His days with sad suspense o'er-cast,
His nights in restless slumbers past:
Canst thou, my love, this portrait see,
Nor sigh for him, who droops for thee?