Give me the nymphs who this good hour
May charm me; not in fiction's scenes,
But teach me Beauty's living power.
My harp, that has been mute too long,
Shall sleep at Beauty's name no more,
So but your smiles reward my song,
Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore;

In whose benignant eyes are beaming
The rays of purity and truth,
Such as we fancy woman's seeming
In the Creation's golden youth.

B

The more I look upon thy grace,
Rosina, I could look the more,
But for Jemima's witching face,

And the sweet voice of Eleanore.

Had I been Lawrence, Kings had wanted
Their portraits, 'till I'd painted yours;
And these had future hearts enchanted,
When this poor verse no more endures.
I would have left the Congress' faces,
A dull-ey'd diplomatic corps,
"Till I had group'd you as the Graces,
Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore.

The Catholic bids fair saints befriend him,-
Your poet's heart is Catholic too ;-
His ros'ry shall be flow'rs ye send him,
His saints' days, when he visits you.
And my sere laurels, for my duty,

Miraculous, at your touch, would rise,
Could I give verse one trait of beauty

Like that which glads me from your eyes.

Unseal'd by you, these lips have spoken,
Disus'd to song for many a day;

You've tun'd a harp whose strings were broken,

And warm'd a heart of callous clay;

So, when my fancy next refuses

To twine for you a garland more,

Come back again, and be my Muses,
Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore!

FEMALE SOCIETY.

Without female society, it has justly been said,that the beginning of men's lives would be helpless, the middle without pleasure, and the end without comfort.

The celebrated D'Alembert makes a reflection that does honour to the female sex, and to his own feelings. "We are, in a peculiar manner," says he, "in want of the society of a gentle and amiable woman, when our passions have subsided, to participate our cares, calm and alleviate our sufferings, and enable us to support our infirmities. Happy is the man possessed of such a friend! and more happy still, if he can preserve her, and escape the misfortune of a survival."

ON FIRE.

The following beautiful Stanzas were addressed by Sheridan to the Ladies Eliza and Mary Birmingham, daughters of the late Earl of Louth.

THE ELEMENT IS SUPPOSED TO SPEAK.

In poets all my marks you'll see,
Since flash and smoke reveal me;
Suspect me always with Nat Lee:

E'en Blackmore can't conceal me.

In Milton's page I glow by art,
One flame, intense and even;

In Shakspeare's blaze a sudden start,
Like lightnings flash'd from heaven.

In many more, as well as they,
Thro' various forms I shift;

I'm gently lambent while I'm Gay,
But brightest when I'm Swift.

From smoke some tidings you may get,-
It can't subsist without me ;-

Or find me, like some fond coquet,
With fifty Sparks about me.

In other forms I oft am seen,
In breasts of Young and Fair;
And, as the Virtues dwell within,
You'll always find me there.

I, with fine piercing brilliants' gleams,
Cau arm Eliza's eye;

And, with these soft ethereal beams,
Sweet Mary's I supply.

DESCRIPTION OF LOVE.

BY LORD BYRON.

Yes! love, indeed, is light from heaven;
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shar'd, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our slow desire.

Devotion wafts the mind above;

But heaven itself descends in LOVE!
A feeling from the godhead caught,
To wean from self each sordid thought;
A ray of Him who form'd the whole,
A glory circling round the soul.

THE BLOOD-SHOT EYE.

BY T. MOORE.

O, be not afraid, though your eye is so red,
While your cheeks, my dear Bell, are so ruddy;
For so many die by the stroke of that eye,
"Tis no wonder, the weapon is bloody.

SMART REPLY.

A fashionable lady asking a young nobleman, Ja which he thought the prettiest flowers,-roses or tulips; he replied, with great gallantry,-" Your ladyship's two lips before all the roses in the world."

ACROSTIC.

At Mount Edgecumbe is a head of Mrs. Damer, with the following
Acrostic by the late Lord Mount Edgecumbe.

David ne'er touch'd the harp like thee;
Anson ne'er saw thy like at sea;

Mansfield's bright eloquence is not like thine;

Edgecumbe, who thinks thee all divine,

Reveals his passion in this line.