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IMITATED FROM THE ITALIAN.
My pastures with beauty are clad,
Yet silent the birds on the spray,
My flock all appear to be sad,
My lambkins no longer can play.
Each shepherd and shepherdess mourns, Quickly fades tbe tlower of youth;
Yes, sadness in Arcady reigns
Until lovely Plicebe returns
To give again joy to our plains.
My pipe now is dry with disuse,
Not music can lessen my pain,
If Plicebe no spirit infuse,
I handle it, ah! but in vain.
Repining Ibro' meadows I stray,
To count o'er my languishing sheep,
How tedious-how lonesome the way! Soon the infant buds appear.
With her I could trace every step.
Yet why, alas! do I complain!
My Ph.rebe I know is sincere;
Few moons may restore her again
When joy all around will appear!
No'er the kind affections move;
THE RESCUED MARINERS.
BY MISS BAILLIE.
Where distant billows meet the sky,
A pale dull light the seamnen spy,
As spent they stand, and tempest tost,
Their vessel struck!-Their rudder lost! We'll despise each idle rumour,
While distant homes wbere kinsmen weep,
And graves full many a fathom deep,
By turns their fitful gloomy thoughts paar-
tray! Swiftly bounds the mettled courser;
« 'Tis some delusion of the sight, Swift the flying moments move;
“Some northern streamers pearly light!" Haste, my beauteous maid, löle,
“ Fools," saith rous'd Hope, with gen'rous Give the fleeting hour to Love !
“ And aid, and safety come, when comes the SONNET.
day!" The midnight storm is high, and sadness brings To many a musing melancholy mind :
And so it is! The gradual shine It seems the tempest on his dreary wings
Spreads o'er heaven's verge its lengthen a
Now sombre red, now amber bright,
Is quickly perish'd, and its breath forgot: 1 Like floating fire the gleaming billows burn; Bright let the tapers beam: the ruddy fire Far distant on the ruddy tide
With heightened resiness exalt the glow A black’ning sail is seen to glide; Of woman's blooming cheek; and wine inspire Loud bursts their eager joyful cry, The open heart's exhilarating flow!
Their hoisted signal waves on high, Who that is wise, would yield the passing bour || And life, and strength, and happy thoughts
To bitterness, when bliss is in his power? I return.