... ,.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 ...

... A CANZ0N'ETTE. On! say not yet good night ! my love, There's music on the lea; The sun is shining bright, my love, On rock, and tower, and tree- ScarCe yet has ceased the wtild bees' hum, The grass with dew's scarce atet; The hour of parting is not come- Not yet, my love, not yet. How lag the hours of noon, my love- No kindred bosom nigh ! I 'But when the vesper moon, my love, Beams forth, ...

... ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN BELZONI'S EXIIIBITION. A4ND thou haist walk'd about (bow strange a story!) In Thebes's street Three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time bad not begun to overtbhrow Those temples, palaces, and pilei stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous. Speak ! for thou long enough bast acted DUmmy, Thou hast a tongue-come let us hear its ...

... IRISH LITERATURE.-MR. BARRON. WE observe from an advertisement in the Dublin EBen- ing Post, that Philip F. Barron, Esq. of Waterford, has commenced a weekly Magazine, for the exclusive purpose of bringing before the public the neglected treasures of an- cient -Irish Literature. Mr. Barron is a gentleman of in- dependent fortune, one whose national spirit is not inferior to his resources, and ...

... LADIES' FASHIONS }OR JUNE. MORNING AND EVENING DRESSES.-Redingote of plaid silk, -(a green cheque, and-a little rose-colour bouquet on the white ground) the fronts en tablier, ornamented at each side with bows of green, ribbon; tight corsage, and pelerine pointed to the waist-; the points on theshoulders very deep, with small bows at equal distances; muslin, collar trimmed with white lace, and ...

... 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 freAh'ning 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 ...

... Otr! it was here that Love his gifts bestowed On youth's wild age! Gladly once more I ~sc my youth's abode, H In pdgrimagel Eere my young mistress with her poet dared Reckless to dwell; She was sixteen, I twenty, and we shared This attic cell. Yes, 'tvas a garret! be it known to all, Here was Love's shrine; There read, in charcoal traced along the wall, Th' unfinished line- Here was the board ...

... THE WANDEE;ER'S RETURN. AWAY thro' the fbreast So gloomy and lone, To the home of his fathers The wand'rer has gone; To light his dark path Not a star's in the sky, And he hears on the blast The hyena's wild cry; But be heeds not the storm that raves wild o'er his head, For he thinks on the days that for ever have fled. He thinks of the maiden With whom he has stray'd, At sunset, beneath The ...

... JOB v, 6, 7. (rrom BlocAwooas Mfegazine for J1iYi.)A BLow on, blow on, thou sA-t and evenirg breeze! The dim-seen bat around my head is wheeling; And stars are twinkling through theleafy trees, And darker shadows o'er the writers stealing- While thou art wandering on the pathless seas, Where there are none to meet, oh soft and evening breeze! Jt see-thee not-and yet I trace thy wing On the ...

... BY MR. WILLIS, AN AMERICAN POET. I LOVE to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet grey; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And it makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye. I have walked the world for fourscore years; And they say that I am old, And my ...

... . - ORIGINAL POETRE. j. 1 . q..t . I , . . . ELI C I A H E M A N S. Blessings be with them, and immortal praise, h: . ,P ets, who, On earth, have made us heirs Of truth and pure delightby heavenly lays, -TziFssE-nis one naire which haunts me like a Sigh, 7. Keeping my fond lips in well-pleas'd unrest; It is the name of her'whose chantings high, 'Mid the late gush of song, I lsve!theb.est- ...

... \C.RFPTION FCR A FOUNTAIN ON A ,lEA.kI-E. Ttias sycamore, ofX musical %vitb bees- Such tents the Patriarchs loved! 0 long unharmed May all its aged boughs o'er-canopy The small round basin, whiel this jutting stone Keeppspure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath, Send up cold waters to the traveller WVith soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease You tiny ...