And thine as playful in these flow'ry glades,
To hear the prayer ascend to Mercy's throne,
To hear from strangers, shelter'd in these shades,
The grateful blessing breath'd in tongues unknown.

On high, shrill herald of the opening year,

The trembling branches feel thy fluttering wing; Thy throbbing breast exults-and sweet and clear Thou hail'st the hours of love-returning Spring.

And now, proud leader of the feather'd throats,
Long may fair Penrhôs with thy voice be blest
A thousand warblers learn thy witching notes,
Unnumber'd songsters issue from thy nest.

Long may thy Stanley's gracious ear attend,
The Muse's tuneful voice, thy tones of glee;
Bid for the world, the mealy blade ascend,

The currant's juicy clusters swell for thee.

;

* The crew of the first vessel consisted of people of various nations ; and some of them continued a considerable time at Penrhos.

B

And though these groves may tempt the prowling boy,

Though all his eyes the braided foliage draw;

Here shall thy nestlings, and thy rising joy,
Be sacred from the truant's prying paw.

Nymphs of the woods that trip unseen along, [charm, Whom still, when burns the noon, these shades can Who share alike the shelter and the song,

O guard his helpless group from every harm.

Protect them, Dryad Fair, or dread the day,
When angry Pan shall lay aside his flute;
Forbid the dance that bids your hours be gay,

And every throat that cheers the grove be mute.

SONNET,

Written on picking up from a foot-path the fragments of a broken bottle.

Unknown, who next this narrow path may tread, And Night, from Caution's eye may soon conceal These little bits of lacerating glass,

That slily through the shoe-less skin may steal.

Some son of Toil, perhaps, this way may tread,
Whose hands, unwearied, now his children feed;
When Evening leads him to his homely bed,

I'll save him-and my soul approves the deed!

Yes-I shall save the foot that might have bled, Shall save the partner of his heart from woe; Save for his infant group, their "daily bread," The tears that anguish might have forc'd to flow.

If such salvation crowns a minute's carc,

The Mind's a monster that would leave it there.

Leave, Muses, leave, Ambition's sons,
And men of noisy name,

A sweeter theme fair Virtue brings,
"Tis humble GILBERT PLANE.

Child of the lowly cavern'd Kiln,*
Where Toil its inmates fed;

Where Labour, on the lap of Night,
Repos'd his weary head.

* He lives in one of the Hovels that were once lime-kilns, about half a mile from Buxton: is now 73 years of age, and extremely interesting in his general appearance.His time is amused by collecting rags (led by his second wife, whom Gilbert, unused to

For him, the opening world display'd
No stores of hoarded wealth,

Yet Heaven bestow'd superior boons-
Gave industry and health!

So pass'd his hours of youthful life
To manhood's vigorous days,

And that they pass'd unstain'd by vice,
Is honest GILBERT's praise.

*

Now Love beheld his manly frame,

And strait his arrows hurl'd,

And youthful GILBERT felt the flame

That set's on fire the world.

And, faith, the little urchin can,
In moments blest and kind,

solitude, married about three years ago) the produce of whicha weekly half-crown from the parish-and the occasional donations of the beneficent-are the sources of his support-and of a contentment and gratitude, to which Affluence is often a stranger.

* The appellation by which he is generally known-of which he is justly proud-and than which the world has nothing more honourable to bestow.