And inmost feeling of our souls, which never Had else been breath'd in words, rush'd forth and sought Their sweet home in each other's hearts, and there They lived and grew 'mid sadness and despair. It was not with the bonds of common love Our hearts were knit together; they had been Silent companions in those griefs which move And purify the soul, and we had seen Each other's strength and truth of mind, and hence We loved with passion's holiest confidence. We parted (as our hearts had loved) in duty She rests in Heaven, and I-I could not follow : ANON. WHAT IS LIFE? AND what is life?-An hour-glass on the run, A mist, retreating from the morning sun, 3 A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream,— And happiness ?-A bubble on the stream, 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? No where at all, save Heaven, and the grave. Then what is Life ?-When stripp'd of its disguise, A thing to be desired it cannot be ; 'Tis but a trial all must undergo, To teach unthankful mortal how to prize That happiness vain man's denied to know, Until he's call'd to claim it in the skies. CLARE. TO SCOTLAND. (FROM A SABBATH AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.) DEAR to my spirit, Scotland, thou hast been, Since infant years, in all thy glens of green; Land of my love, where every sound and sight JAMES GRAY. GOD VISIBLE IN HIS WORKS. ETERNAL, and Omnipotent unseen! Who bad'st the world, with all its lives complete, Start from the void, and thrill beneath THY feet, THEE I adore, with reverence serene; Here, in the fields, thine own cathedral meet, Built by THYSELF, blue-roofed, and hung with green, Wherein all breathing things, in concert sweet, Organed by winds, perpetual hymns repeat; Where hast thou spread that Book to every eye Whose tongue and truth all—all may read and prove; On whose three blessed leaves, EARTH, OCEAN, SKY, THINE own right hand hath stamp'd, MIGHT, JUSTICE, LOVE, True trinity, which binds in due degree HORACE SMITH. VERSES. IF I had thought thou couldst have died, But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be: It never through my mind had past, And I on thee should look my last, And still upon that face I look, And still the thought I will not brook, But when I speak-thou dost not say, If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, I still might press thy silent heart, I do not think, where'er thou art, And I, perhaps, may sooth this heart, Yet there was round thee such a dawn As fancy never could have drawn, WOLFE. * This affecting composition is the production of the late Rev. Charles Wolfe, author of the well-known verses on the death of Sir John Moore. His poetical pieces are few in number, but they are of great excellence, though subordinate to the much loftier qualities of a zeal truly apostolic, and a vigorous and manly intellect, devoted unremittingly to the noblest cause to which the human faculties can be devoted. It was not to crowded cities, nor to |