A CAPTIVE LARK.

THE Spring's abroad, the morn is high,
The lambs are sporting on the brae,
And all my kinsfolk in the sky
Rejoicing o'er the infant May.
Why does this quivering throat refuse
To swell the song? methinks you say-
Alas my breast in heavenly dews
Hath not been steep'd for many a day.
No zephyr in the rustling grass

My home with gentle whisper cheers,
But comfortless, as winter, pass

The captive's hours-the captive's years. My wing is like a withered leaf, That drops in autumn's early frost, My little heart is dry with grief, And all the soul of song is lost. The Power, but tuneful souls confest, Who fills with music every vein, Forsakes with Liberty the breast,

And shuns the house of bonds and pain.

ADDRESS TO SPRING.

FROM bowers of amaranthine bloom,
O lovely, lovely Spring, draw near,
And hence dismiss chill Winter's gloom,
And wake with smiles the new born year.

With light green leaves and opening flowers,
Once more 'perfume, and dress the grove,
And shed thy fostering dews and showers,
Fair Sylvan "Queen of rural love."

To yon dark cell as Winter fleets

While Flora spreads her mantle gay,
Collect those rich luxuriant sweets,
Which bind the rosy brows of May!
Whilst I with nymphs, and "village hinds.”
In lively dance, and frolic play,

As round thy beauteous landscape shines,
To thee fair Spring our homage pay.

THE BARD'S SONG.

TO HIS DAUGHTER.

( DAUGHTER dear, my darling child,
Prop of my mortal pilgrimage,
Thou who has care and pain beguiled,
And wreathed with Spring my wintry age,
Through thee a second prospect opes
Of life, when but to live is glee,
And jocund joys, and youthful hopes,
Come thonging to my heart through thee,
Backward thou lead'st me to the bowers
When love and youth their transports gave;
While forward still thou strewest flowers,
And bids me live beyond the grave;
For still my blood in thee shall flow,
Perhaps to warm a distant line,
Thy face, my lineaments shall show,
And e'en my thoughts survive in thine.
Yes, Daughter, when this tongue is mute,
This heart is dust-these eyes are closed,
And thou art singing to thy lute

Some stanza by the Sire composed,
To friends around thou may'st impart
A thought of him who wrote the lays,
And from the grave my form shall start,
Embodied forth to fancy's gaze.

Then to their memories will throng
Scenes shared with him who lies in earth,
The cheerful page, the lively song,
The woodland walk, or festive mirth;
Then may they heave the pensive sigh,
That friendship seeks not to control,
And from the fix'd and thoughtful eye
The half unconscious tears may roll :-
Such now bedew my cheek-but mine
Are drops of gratitude and love,
That mingle human with divine,
The gift below, its source above-

How exquisitely dear thou art
Can only be by tears exprest,

And the fond thrillings of my heart
While thus I clasp thee to my breast.

ELIGHTFULLY situated on the banks of the Thames, opposite Richmond Gardens, is this seat of the duke of Northumberland. It is called Sion, from a nunnery of Bridge. tines, of the same name, originally founded at Twickenham, by Henry V.

The most beautiful scenery imaginable is formed before two of the principal fronts; for even the Thames itself seems to belong to the gardens, which are separated into two parts by a new serpentine river, which communicates with the Thames. Two bridges form a communication between the two gardens, and there is a stately Doric column, on the top of which is a finely proportioned statue of Flora. The greenhouse has a Gothic front, in so light a style, as to be greatly admired. The back and end walls of it are the only remains of the old monastery. These beautiful gardens are stored with a great many curious exotics, and were principally laid out by Brown.

The entrance to the mansion, from the great road, is through a beautiful gateway, adorned on each side with an open colonnade. The visitor ascends the house by a flight of steps which leads into The Great Hall, a noble oblong room, sixty-six feet by twenty-one, and thirtyfour in height. It is paved with white and black marble, and is ornamented with antique marble colossal statues,

NO. XXVII.

and particularly with a cast of the dying gladiator in bronze, by Valadier.

Adjoining to the Hall is a magnificent Vestibule, in au uncommon style; the floor of scagliola, and the walls in fine relief, with gilt trophies, &c. It is adorned with twelve large lonic columus, and sixteen pilasters of verde antique, purchased at an immense expence, being a greater quantity of this scarce marble than is now perhaps to be found in any one building in the world: on the columns are twelve gilt statues. This leads to the Dining Room, which is ornamented with marble statues, and paintings in chiaro oscuro, after the antique. At each end is a circular recess separated by columns, and the ceiling is in stucco gilt.

The Drawing Room has a coved ceiling, divided into two small compartments richly gilt, and exhibiting designs of all the antique painting that have been found in Europe, executed by the best Italian artists. The sides are hung with a rich three-coloured silk damask, the first of the kind ever executed in England. The tables are two noble pieces of antique mosaic, found in the baths of Titus, and purchased from Abbate Furietti's collection at Rome. The glasses are 108 inches by 65, being two of the largest ever seen in England. The chimney-piece is of the finest statuary marble, inlaid and ornamented with or molu.

From the east end of the gallery are a suit of private apartments, that are convenient and elegant, and lead us back to the great hall by which we entered. All these improvements were begun in 1762 by the grandfather of the present duke, under the direction of the late Robert Adam, Esq. The late illustrious Duke (who distinguished himself at the Battle of Bunker's Hill) passed the principal part of his time bere; as he entertained a great predilection for this spot and its vicinity.

THIS author, of rural and pastoral celebrity, wrote his "Farmer's Boy" in a garret occupied by shoe makers, and pursued his poetical occupation amid the din of arms and clattering of heels; and to complete the grand climax of intellect, and for ever immortalize the name and reminiscences of a garret, Collins composed his odes in some such miserable dwelling.

VANITY.

HE Vanity of mankind has been deplored by almost every speculatist, yet it is one of those subjects which will ever supply the intellect with fresh observation; for if it is not an universal, it is at least one of the general passions; and, although the wisest maxims have been aimed towards its suppression, it still retains too large an interest in the human bosom; nor would it be an untruth or exaggeration to add, that in some degree its influence eclipses the brilliance of every character. Vanity is a vice which we imbibe early and eradicate late, and its operations on the mind, like poison acting on a body, swell it to a preternatural distension; and hence the towerings of conceit, and the arrogance of pride. It is the product of Ambition by a hag, whose name is Envy; and am sometimes apt to think, that common Vanity is a Constitutional aggrievance; there are a thousand ways whereby this preposterous inclination of the heart is heightened, and innumerable arts, by which the sparks of Vanity are ventilated into a blaze. Flattery is the most violent of all inflamations; and of every disorder, will the soonest cause a fever of the soul. The imagination of man is easily fired by unmerited applause, catches eagerly at those vulgar adulations which result either from interest, partiality, or folly. Flattery is the food of Pride, and may be well assimilated to those cordials, which hurt the constitution, while they exhilarate the spirits. He who has been often the slave of Flattery, will soon sink into the most disgraceful dependence; and, like the drunken man, he must always have recourse to the cause of his intoxication, merely to prevent the sinkings of his heart.

It is usual in this, and in the neighbouring nation, to be exceedingly soft in the moment of salutation and address; yet the polite are not sufficiently aware how near allied what Fashion calls compliment is to downright lying. There is a wide difference betwixt civility and a profusion of professions; for if the first is a mark of truth, the latter surely cannot it is inconceivable how the natural vanity of some is heated by the insignificance of common compliments; hence they are proud of such parts of their characters which in truth have the most defection; and hence, we frequently see Beauty clouded by affectation