... ,.ST ANZAS. BY .LORD MoaPETi-. OR Lady, ask no lay from me, 'Tis well, at morn's refulgent hour, To sport beside the myrtle tree; -Our noon demands a shadier bower; The rays that.dart fierce heart beneath, Tbe gales that drop the frosty gem, Shiver or scorch the fluttering wreath, Eut'root and rear the bar&y stem- Oh Lady, ask no lay from me, 'Tis well on youth's unruffled tide, With streaming ...

... 'LITERARY NOTICE - Bonnycasptles Letters ?? Edition,, withl many corrections and additions by J. R. Young, Professor of. Mathematics in BeZfast Col- lege. Tie letters of Bonnycastle on .Astronomy are amongst the most popular of his numerous works; and deservedly so, because they combine an accurate, al- most a scientific exposition of the subjeet, 'with that plainness and familiarity.of ...

... TIHE SAILOR'S REST. WHY search the deep For those who sleep Beneath its licaving billow? Is that blue sea. Now raging free A more ignoble pillow Than theirs who die On shore-snd lie Wlhere the green turf is spread' Awny! awayI Let the Sloeper lay- flls-is a moble bed! There let him rest ills weary breast tpon the lonely wave, Whose glittering crest The sunny west ?? made a golden graew. Upon ...

... BEF112AST A S.O('CA Ti ON' 01 A H TJS1'Tl'' The drst exhibitito of the Bhove SOc'ety wivs op ene]d to the public, on Tuesday list. We are happy to ftid thit at lefgth, the arti ts oft this town have perceived the nev s- sity of an exhibition, not only for the pirupose of imtprovile the pdblic taste for the l'itte Arts, bitt also fto the iniprove ,nCert which it is atniversilly llowied thalt ...

... TO MY YOUNGEST SON, .-LETCESTER STANHOPE FORbES YOUNG BUCKINGHAM, AGED NINE YEARS. To be placed beneath My Portrait in his Study. YES! look upon that face, my Son, And think thou hear'st'it ever say, Hast thou, my Boy, thy duty done! And lived another virtuous day? -For if thou hast-anotber link Is added to Affection's chain: Ulf not-oh 1-Dearest-dread to think Of mine and of thy Mother's ...

... THE NVORLD. BY EL IZA C0OO.,, T.U.K who will of the world ass a desert of thrall, Yet-yet, there is bloom on the waste'; Though the chalice of life hath its acid and gall, There are honey-drops too for the taste. We murmur and droop should a sorrow-cloud stay, And note all the shades of our lot; But Athe rich seintillatious that brighten our way Are bask'd in, enjoyed, and forgot. Those who ...

... I eR NE. (Fr-oz thle Dulblin Uviverai/Q,1i Maqmiac for ilfurcA.) DrAtUrT goes forth ?? thee With tlic Sun From morn till eve, nnd with thc silent moon Hovers at midnight: when her starry noon Jloldsjubilee-in Tlcayqn, the fairies run Athwart thy dewy vales from du. to dun Among ?? ,farny lakcR ; thc shamrock springs Beneath their prankin1 footsteps; and the wings Of Eld, vherb long c Nistor . ...

... m Y i Tb i. B3Y J. e. BUCHRANAN, ICSQ, AwAv! away-my Blark and I Merrily o'er tlie waters fly, Leaving the laud and its dnll shoro To soulless slaves, hlo dread the roar Of oeean-wheln the winds in wrath Have chosen her hosom for their path, And whirling wild amid the spray, Hold on their fieree, but viewless way. Speed tlic !-speed theo-my beauteous thing Tlhine is a difer-drooping wing- ...

... Rloscoe's Xovegist's Library, «o. I. ] obinsoh Ctusie, Vol. I , with a Life of Defoe, write n expressly for tise.Edition. -London, 1831. i THIS is the first volume of a projected series of our older Novelists, including the standard productions of Defoe, Fielding, Smollett, Goldsmith, Mackenzie, &c. in a size tni- form with that of the Waverley Novels; The vol ume before us is elegantly got up ...

... FOR TgiBELFA`ST NEWS-LETTER. SAD was the' hour vkhen wve parted, Still sadder was that when we metL; Joy has for ever depatted, And left me a prey to regrit. 'Look ! yonder's the grove where- sloft Our footsteps have joyowslv stray'd; The lark sweetly vwarbled aloft, As we sought the cool of yon shade, And thereis the bow'r where you vow'd Irhat for me alone you would live; Bright then were my ...

... BY LmIAS BIRD. MoTrm.n, raise those downcast eyes, And look upon our play; And, sister, close the heavy book- Is this not Christmas day? When did you ever let us laugh Alo.m, the livelong night ? Play with us now, or tell us tales, Around the hearth-fire bright. Then spoke the gentle motber-she Whose cheek was wan and pale, And from her fair and faded brow Drew back the mourning veil. Alas! ...

... THE YOqplG TO HER IRST-1OflN CHILD. IY sweet wee nrslirig ! thou art sweet to me As sun to flowv'rs, or honey to the bec- Music in summer bowv'rs-the ?? stream, To bright wvings dipping fromn the sultry beam- Hope to the mourner, to the weary rest- To the young drenmer-visions of the blest! What art thou like, nestling in si rmbers there, So meek, so calm, so i;mocetitly fair? What art thou ...