LIFE, HOPE, AND DEATH.

As thus she looked on me, her baby cried,

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(Haply at being unnoticed,) and stretched out
His little hands, and wound them round her neck,
And strok'd down her poor cheek: thereat she turn'd
And gazed upon it wildly, and sank down

Upon her knees and prayed; and to her bosom
Clasped it, and hung her head, and wept aloud.

AND what is Life?- -an hour-glass on the run;
A mist, retreating from the morning sun;

A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream ;—
Its length ?—a minute's pause-a moment's thought.
And Happiness?-a bubble on the stream,
That, in the act of seizing, shrinks to nought.

And what is Hope?-the puffing gale of morn,
That robs each flow'ret of its gem—and dies;
A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,

Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.

And what is Death ?-Is still the cause unfound?--That dark mysterious name of horrid sound!

A long and lingering sleep-the weary crave. And Peace!—where can its happiness abound? Nowhere at all, save heaven, and the grave.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

BY T. MOORE, ESQ.

SEE how beneath the moonbeam's smile
Yon little billow heaves its breast,

And foams and sparkles for a while,
And, murmuring, then subsides to rest.

Thus man,

the sport of bliss and care,

Rises in time's eventful sea;

And, having swelled a moment there,

Thus melts into eternity.

DIRGE OF A CHILD.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

No bitter tears for thee be shed,

!

Blossom of being-seen and gone
With flowers alone we strew thy bed,
Oh, blest departed one !
Whose all of life, a rosy ray,

Blushed into dawn, and passed away.

Yes, thou art gone, ere guilt had power
To stain thy cherub soul and form!
Clos'd is the soft ephemeral flower
That never felt a storm!

The sunbeam's smile-the zephyr's breath-
All that it knew from birth to death.

Thou wert so like a form of light,

That heaven benignly called thee hence, Ere yet the world could breathe one blight O'er thy sweet innocence :

And thou that brighter home to bless
Art passed with all thy loveliness.

Oh! hadst thou still on earth remained—
Vision of beauty, fair as brief—
How soon thy brightness had been stained
With passion or with grief!
Now not a sullying breath can rise
To dim thy glory in the skies.

We rear no marble o'er thy tomb,

No sculptur❜d image there shall mourn ;

Ah! fitter far the vernal bloom

Such dwelling to adorn.

Fragrance, and flowers, and dews, must be

The only emblems meet for thee.

Thy grave shall be a blessed shrine,

Adorned with Nature's brightest wreath,

Each glowing season shall combine
Its incense there to breathe ;
And oft upon the midnight air

Shall viewless harps be murmuring there.

And, oh! sometimes in visions blest,
Sweet spirit, visit our repose,

And bear from thine own world of rest
Some balm for human woes.

What form more lovely could be given Than thine to messenger of heaven!

ON A TEAR.

BY MR. ROGERS.

O that the chemist's magic art

Could crystalize this sacred treasure! Long should it glitter near my heart, A secret source of pensive pleasure.

The little brilliant, ere it fell,

Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye; Then, trembling, left its coral cellThe spring of sensibility.