DENT.

I.

THERE is a town, of little note or praise,
Narrow and winding are its rattling streets,
Where cart with cart in cumbrous conflict meets,
Hard straining up or backing down the ways,
Where insecure the crawling infant plays,

And the nigh savour of the hissing sweets
Of pan or humming oven rankly greets

The hungry nose that threads the sinuous maze;
Yet there the lesson of the pictured porch,
The beauty of Platonic sentiment,

The sceptic wisdom, positive in doubt,

All creeds and fancies, like the hunter's torch, Caught each from each, perfection find in Dent, Where what they cannot get they do without.

GEOLOGY.

II.

In that small town was born a worthy wight,
(His honest townsmen well approve his worth,)
Whose mind has pierced the solid crust of earth,
And roam'd undaunted in the nether night.
His thought a quenchless incorporeal light,
Has thrid the labyrinth of a world unknown,
Where the old Gorgon time has turn'd to stone
Long thorny snake and monstrous lithophyte.
Long may'st thou wander in that deep obscure,
And issuing thence, good sage, bring with thee still
That honest face, where truth and goodness shine;
Right is thy creed, as all thy life is pure.
And yet if certain persons had their will,

The fate of Galileo had been thine.

ANGELS have wings? Well, let them growMay it be long before you know

Whether they have or not.

But geese have wings, and quills as good,
Perhaps, as wings of angels could
Supply-could they be got.

But oh dear lady, why contrive
To make the vainest man alive

Conceited more than ever:

I will not call these pens divine,
But certain they were pens of thine,

And that's enough, however.

TRANSLATIONS.

FROM THE GERMAN.

THERE is an angel that abides
Within the budding rose ;

That is his home, and there he hides
His head in calm repose.

The rose-bud is his humble home,
But thence he often loves to roam;
And wending through the path of Heaven,
Empurples all the track of even.

If e'er he sees a maiden meek,
He hovers nigh, and flings
Upon the modest maiden's cheek
The shadow of his wings.

Oh, lovely maiden, dost thou know
Why thy cheeks so warmly glow?

'Tis the Angel of the Rose,
That salutes thee as he goes.