ODE.

WHERE shall I meet a friend? I pine alone,
And sadly treasure up my joy and smart;
For I, alas, have no beloved one,

Alike in all, in years, pursuits and heart;
And lo! the boyish years, that oft impart
The strongest cement to the after bond,
Have fled away, and youth will soon depart;-
Cold-hearted, cautious manhood is beyond,

Shut up in friendships, well tried, firm and fond,
Against new comers. Hark! the piercing voice
Of stern and hoary time has bid me make my choice.
And there is surely one (if we could meet)
A little like the picture in my brain;
But some far glen is trodden by his feet,
He shuns the noise of vulgar crowds profane.
Then oh! if any wandering of my strain

Should reach your valley, my belov'd to be, When breathes my pipe, o'er glooming's quiet plain, In trembling tones of sorrow, know that he, Who sings so tender on a distant lea, Is thine. Arise, in search of his retreat,

Follow the music, youth, and we at last shall meet.

M. N.

SONG.

HAVE

LAVE you not seen the rippling stream Along the moss-clad margin gleam ?Have you not seen the driving snow O'er yon cold heathy mountain blow As pure, but not so cold, the love, That my poor throbbing heart doth move.

Have you not seen the bashful rose
Its gently opening buds unclose,

As half unwilling to unveil

Its beauties to the ruder gale?

As pure, as modest is the love,

That my poor, throbbing heart doth move.

Have you not seen with amorous coo
His downy mate the turtle woo,
Without one wandering wish to stray
Far from his charmer's side away?
As true, as tender is the love,

That my poor throbbing heart doth move.

Have you not seen the lily's stem
Bedew'd with many a pearly gem,
But droop, when falls the beating rain,
Without a hope to rise again?-
As pure, but hopeless is the love,

That my poor throbbing heart doth move.
LINCOLN, APRIL 1811.

J. C.

THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL.

FAREWELL, lovely land, where in youth I have sported, Ere sorrow and care taught my bosom to mourn : Adieu, native mountains, from you I'm departed, And my beating heart whispers no more to return. my cheeks are the big tears of sorrow now streaming,

O'er

And Nature resumes in my heart all her sway; In my eye every scene of my childhood is beaming, But from those lovely scenes I am far far away. Thou land of my forefathers! must I then leave thee, And suffer ambition to tempt me to roam?

In yon foreign land will affection receive me?

Ör there shall I find what I leave-a sweet home? Ah! no: for misfortune my steps still attending, Will doom my 'lorn bosom to anguish and woe: Not a sigh, not a tear, on my ashes descending!

Not a bosom to beat with affection's warm glow!

MR. J. IRVING.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

Who asserted that no one above the Age of Thirty could be in Love.

IN

1.

youth's early dawn, can this gloomy opinion Possess my sweet friend, that the heart's so soon cold? Can she gravely maintain, that Love's mighty dominion No longer can sway us, when THIRTY is told?

Can she truly believe, that our life's dearest treasures, When their first tide is ended, no longer can flow? What is this but to say that the Spring has its pleasures, And that nought of delight can the Summer bestow?

When our THIRTY is told, if the flame of affection
No longer should dazzle with meteor rays,
Yet, sanction'd by reason, and prov'd by reflection,
It burns with as bright, but with steadier blaze.

IV.

And let her not think that 'tis Fancy's suggestion
That bids me against her my judgment uphold:
I once, young like her, might have laugh'd at the
question,

But now feel we can love, when our THIRTY is told.

SONNET.

ON THE LATE DUCHESS OF GORDON.

BY SIR BROOKE BOOTHBY, BART.

Is then the bright expansive spirit flown,
That wont to animate the admiring throng?
Does the fair theme of many a poet's song
Exist in pleasing memory alone?
GORDON is gone; and we our loss bemoan;
Remains there one, your frolic tribes among,
Who can, like her, the sprightly hour prolong?
Tell, ye gay circles, she to you was known!
Happy, when others happy she could make,

And none so well knew how! none knew so well The sweetest sympathies of life to wake,

And all its cares and sorrows to dispel!
High-minded, friendly, open, and sincere,
Ye kindred spirits, join the heart-drawn tear.