VI.

They are sleeping!—Who are sleeping?
Thousands who have passed away,
From a world of woe and weeping,
To the regions of decay!

Safe they rest, the green turf under;
Sighing breeze, or music's breath,
Winter's wind, or summer's thunder,
Cannot break the sleep of death!

AMBLESIDE.

ENCHANTMENT all!—the traveller spell-bound,
Imparadised in wonder, half-dismayed,
And pacing with inaudible foot the ground,
Scarce breathes, lest melting into ether fade
The wild, deep avenue of rock and glade,
The waterfall, the glen, the mountains 'round;
From whose dread sanctuary the world's parade
Draws back discountenanced; for not a sound
Of Circe's tongue or Siren's lay is here:
No harp that vibrates to a touch profane;
No tempter blandishing with airs of heaven;
But the pure soul of poetry, the strain
That bursts upon the dying martyr's ear,
Bethabara's call-Repent, and be forgiven!

H.

ZADIG AND ASTARTE.

BY DELTA.

I.

He sought her east, he sought her west,

The vision, that had blessed his sight, She robbed his bosom of its rest,

Of joy by day, of sleep by night ;

;་

He turned and turned to shun his care,

Only to miss her every where!

II.

In vain for him o'er fields of flowers
The mighty star of day arose;
In vain for him, 'mid jasmine bowers,
The nightingale, at twilight's close,
Sang to the gathering lamps of night:—
In nought his spirit asked delight.

Printed by MQueen.

Printed by McQueen