O! glory like the morning beam
"Shines on the mountain head,
But on the vallies not a gleam
Of kindling warmth is shed.

Should I the joys of love forth tell
Upon my grief worn strings,
My lonely harp with sorrowing swell
Would mourn the woes it brings.

Then farewell to the sounds of peace,
Until in Heaven's choir,

In God's high praise my grief will cease,
And joy attune my lyre.

MAN LIKE A ROSE.

THE rose is seen at morn,

Scarce breathing forth perfume

Unhurting is its thorn,

And delicate its bloom;

Within its moist and flagrant cell Naught, but the purest dew-drops dwell.

Such is yon gentle child,

Of low and modest mien,

Just on life's dreary wild—

Nor sin, nor care is seen;

Within his meek and lowly breast

Can aught but purest thoughts have rest?

View then again the flow'r,

Ere mid-day's beams depart

Its thorn hath sharper pow'r,

And blight is at its heart;

The sunbeams have imbib'd its dew.

Yet given it a richer hue.

To yonder man then turn:
Sadness is in his soul-

And thoughts within him burn,
That will not brook controul;

And yet tho' rude and drear the storm, 'T has given vigour to his form.

Gaze on the flow'r at eve,

Its beauty hath decay'd

Yet odour will not leave

Its bosom tho' it fade;

Tho' bloomless are its leaves, and pale, The flagrance there cannot exhale.

From yonder aged eye

The beams of joy have fled→→

That breast now heaves a sigh,

And energy is dead;

Tho' hopes and joys have fled away,

The spirit's there-it can't decay!

SONG,

Suggested by Mr. Bayly's Melody

" OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER!"

THEY tell me he hath left this land,
On other shores to roam-
That scenes of grandeur and of art
May banish thoughts of home.
They tell me that his broken heart
Admits of no relief-

For sunken eye and pallid brow
Too well betoken grief.

They tell me that his manly form
Is hasting to decay--

That o'er his wasted cheek, a smile

Is never seen to play;

And all they say, howe'er it pains,
With me will gain belief-

For well I know how deadly are
The ravages of grief.

The scenes that we together view'd,

I

gaze upon alone

The only solace that is left,

Each spot that he has known;

A momentary peace they give,
Yet ev'ry flow'r and leaf

Are so entwined with thoughts of him,
They do but swell my grief.

I do not move as I was wont,
In gaiety along—

Nor is my voice as joyous now
As erst it was in song;

And tho' a smile at times may rise,

'Tis transient, faint, and briefFor in the heart will ever dwell

My deeply rooted grief.