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THE PARROT.

A DOMESTIC ANECDOTE.

THE following incident, so strongly illustrating the power of memory and association in the lower animals, is not a fiction. I heard it many years ago in the Island of Mull, from the family to whom the bird belonged.

THE deep affections of the breast,

That Heaven to living things imparts,
Are not exclusively possessed

By human hearts.

A parrot, from the Spanish Main,

Full young, and early caged, came o'er
With bright wings, to the bleak domain
Of Mulla's shore.

To spicy groves where he had won
His plumage of resplendent hue,
His native fruits, and skies, and sun,
He bade adieu.

For these he changed the smoke of turf,
A heathery land and misty sky,
And turned on rocks and raging surf
His golden eve.

But, petted, in our climate cold

He lived and chattered many a day;
Until with age, from green and gold
His wings grew gray.

At last, when blind and seeming dumb,
He scolded, laughed, and spoke no more,
A Spanish stranger chanced to come
To Mulla's shore;

He hailed the bird in Spanish speech,
The bird in Spanish speech replied,
Flapped round his cage with joyous screech,
Dropped down, and died.

ON GETTING HOME THE PORTRAIT OF A FEMALE CHILD, SIX YEARS OLD,

PAINTED BY EUGENIO LATILLA.

TYPE of the Cherubim above,

Come, live with me, and be my love!
Smile from my wall, dear roguish sprite,
By sunshine and by candle-light;
For both look sweetly on thy traits:

Or, were the Lady-Moon to gaze,
She'd welcome thee with lustre bland,
Like some young fay from Fairy-Land.
Cast in simplicity's own mould,
How canst thou be so manifold
In sportively distracting charms?
Thy lips thine eyes thy little arms
That wrap thy shoulders and thy head
In homeliest shawl of netted thread,
Brown woollen net-work; yet it seeks
Accordance with thy lovely cheeks,

And more becomes thy beauty's bloom
Than any shawl from Cashmere's loom.

Thou hast not, to adorn thee, girl,
Flower, link of gold, or gem, or pearl-
I would not let a ruby speck
The peeping whiteness of thy neck.
Thou need'st no casket, witching elf,
No gawd thy toilet is thyself;

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Not ev'n a rose-bud from the bower-
Thyself a magnet-gem, and flower.

My arch and playful little creature,
Thou hast a mind in every feature;
Thy brow, with its disparted locks,
Speaks language that translation mocks :
Thy lucid eyes so beam with soul,
They on the canvas seem to roll,
Instructing both my head and heart
To idolize the painter's art.

He marshals minds to Beauty's feast,
He is Humanity's high priest,

Who proves, by heavenly forms on earth,
How much this world of ours is worth.
Inspire me, child, with visions fair!

For children, in Creation, are

The only things that could be given

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Back, and alive, unchanged, to Heaven!

SONG OF THE COLONISTS DEPARTING FOR

NEW ZEALAND.

STEER, helmsman, till you steer our way,

By stars beyond the line;

We go to found a realm, one day,

Like England's self to shine.

CHORUS.

Cheer up! cheer up! our course we'll keep,
With dauntless heart and hand;

And when we've ploughed the stormy deep,
We'll plough a smiling land-

A land, where beauties importune
The Briton to its bowers,

To sow but plenteous seeds, and prune

Luxuriant fruits and flowers.

Chorus.

Cheer up cheer up! &c.

There, tracts uncheered by human words,

Seclusion's wildest holds,

Shall hear the lowing of our herds,

And tinkling of our folds.

Chorus.

Cheer up cheer up! &o

Like rubies set in gold, shall blush
Our vineyards girt with corn;

And wine, and oil, and gladness gush
From Amalthea's horn.

Chorus. Cheer up cheer up! &c.

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We'll girdle earth with British arts,

Like Ariel's magic chains.

CHORUS.

Cheer up! cheer up! our course we'll keep, With dauntless heart and hand;

And when we've ploughed the stormy deep, We'll plough a smiling land.

MOONLIGHT.

THE kiss that would make a maid's cheek flush

Wroth, as if kissing were a sin Amidst the Argus eyes and din And tell-tale glare of noon, Brings but a murmur and a blush, Beneath the modest moon.

Ye days, gone

-never to come back, When love returned entranced me so, That still its pictures move and glow In the dark chamber of my heart; Leave not my memory's future trackI will not let you part.

'Twas moonlight, when my earliest love First on my bosom dropped her head; A moment then concentrated

The bliss of years, as if the spheres

Their course had faster driven,

And carried Enoch-like above,

A living man to Heaven.

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