Beautiful Poetry. TO AN INFANT SMILING AS IT AWOKE. The following exquisite composition came into the possession of one of the Editors many years ago from a source he cannot remember, nor has he been enabled to discover who was the author, or if it has yet appeared in print. Certainly the best of our poets might be proud to claim it as his own. AFTER the sleep of night as some still lake As if from its calm depths the morning light So doth the laughing azure of those eyes The sunlight of a sphere to us unknown ; Hast thou been wafted to elysian bowers In some blest star, where thou hast pre-existed; About the golden harps of seraphs twisted ; Perchance all breathing life is but an essence And thou hast dream'd of that transcendant presence Destined to lose, as thou shalt mix with earth, B We deem thy mortal memory but begun; Which o'er thy slumbering faculties hath cast Too high, or deep, for human fathomings? Perhaps, while reason's earliest fount is heightening, Emblem of heavenly purity and bliss! Mysterious type, which none can understand! GOOD NIGHT. This sweet little poem was written by Miss LANDON, better known, perhaps, as L. E. L. We feel it to be the utterance of a strong emotion; it awakens our own emotions by sympathy, and that is the mission of poetry, whether it be uttered in rhymne or prose. Another charm of this lyric is its unity. GOOD Night!--what a sudden shadow I look not around the chamber, If thus my heart stop beating, And a gloom, like night, surround me, The moment he is gone. Like the false fruit of the lotos, Love alters every taste; We loathe the life we are leading, The spot where we are placed; THE DAY OF THE FUNERAL. The following very beautiful poem appeared in The Times newspaper of November 22, 1852. The author is not known. It well deserves preservation in a collection of the best British poetry. No sounds of labour vex'd the quiet air The simplest peasant in the land that day All, from the simplest to the stateliest, knew But, as the waters of the Northern Sea Some stay'd behind, their hearts, at least, were there The whole day through,-could think of nothing else, Hear nothing else, see nothing! In his cell The student saw the pageant: spied from far The long-drawn pomp which reach'd from west to east, A child might understand That 'twas no national sorrow; but a grief Wide as the world. A child might understand : Such things, and more, the student spied as dull Cast (as by nodding plumes) across his book, Unconscious to himself of what he said : "God, rest his gallant spirit! give him peace! "And crown his brows with amaranth,—and set “The saintly palm-branch in his strong right-hand ! "Amid the conquering armies of the skies "Give him high place for ever! let him walk "O'er meads of better asphodel; and be "Where dwell the single-hearted and the wise, "The saviours of their country !-faithful men, "And loyal to their Prince, and true and brave; "Men like himself, severely, simply good, "Who scorn'd to be ambitious, scorn'd the snares “Of office, station, rank; but stood sublime "In natural greatness O Eternal King,"O Father of all Spirits,-give him peace!" Oriel College, Nov. 18, 1852. THANATOPSIS. This is one of the most beautiful of the compositions of WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, an American poet, who is said to be more popular in England than in his own country. We know not if it be so; but we can readily understand why his calm, reflective compositions,-distinguished more for gracefulness than spirit, for purity than energy, for good taste than lofty genius, and breathing more of the retreats of nature than of the haunts of man,-should not be so popular with the "go-a-head" generation on the other side of the Atlantic as poets who utter strange wild thoughts in burning words, and stir the heart instead of soothing it. The following poem is one of the choicest of BRYANT'S |