Cross, that rises in a picturesque manner from the middle of the leaves, like an ancient Hermitage above the surrounding Wood.

"Over the entrance to the Chapel an Inscription appears, which informs us it was erected by the Abbé du Détroit, Curate of Allonville in the year 1696; and over a door is another dedicating it 'To Our Lady of Peace.'"

Vide No. 14, Saturday Mayazıne.

END OF VOL. 1.

POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES,

ADVERTISEMENT.

By persons resident in the country and attached to rural objects, many places will be found unnamed or of unknown names, where little incidents must have occurred, or feelings been experienced, which will have given to such places a private and peculiar interest. From a wish to give some sort of record to such incidents, and renew the gratifica tion of such feelings, names have been given to places by the Author and some of his friends, and the following Poems written in consequence.

I.

It was an April morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,

Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the Winter had supplied

Was softened down into a vernal tone.

The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of June; as if their various hues
Were only hindrances that stood between

Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed

Such an entire contentment in the air,

That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the Summer. - Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
Which I till then had heard appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush,
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild
growth

Or like some natural produce of the air,

That could not cease to be.

here;

Green leaves were

the birch,

But 't was the foliage of the rocks,

The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,

With hanging islands of resplendent furze :

And on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,

Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,

My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee."

Soon did the spot become my other home, My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.

And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, To whom I sometimes in our idle talk

Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, Years after we are gone and in our graves, When they have cause to speak of this wild place, May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.

11.

1800.

TO JOANNA.

AMID the smoke of cities did you pass

The time of early youth; and there you learned, From years of quiet industry, to love

The living Beings by your own fireside,

With such a strong devotion, that your heart

Is slow to meet the sympathies of them

Who look upon the hills with tenderness,

And make dear friendships with the streams and

groves.

Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind,

Dwelling retired in our simplicity

Among the woods and fields, we love you well,
Joanna! and I guess, since you have been
So distant from us now for two long years,

That you will gladly listen to discourse,

However trivial, if you thence be taught

That they, with whom you once were happy, talk Familiarly of you and of old times.

While I was seated, now some ten days past, Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop Their ancient neighbor, the old steeple-tower, The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked "How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid? And when will she return to us?" he paused; And, and after short exchange of village news, He with grave looks demanded, for what cause, Reviving obsolete idolatry,

I, like a Runic Priest, in characters

Of formidable size had chiselled out

Some uncouth name upon the native rock,
Above the Rotha, by the forest-side.

Now, by those dear immunities of heart
Engendered between malice and true love,
I was not loth to be so catechized,

And this was my reply: "As it befell,
One summer morning we had walked abroad
At break of day, Joanna and myself.

-'T was that delightful season when the broom,
Full-flowered, and visible on every steep,
Along the copses runs in veins of gold.
Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks;

And when we came in front of that tall rock