THE EXILE.

Mrs. Hemans.

WHY, Memory, recall the cheerful hours,
The tranquil time that never can return;
When, gaily wandering in my native bowers,
I once was smiling as the summer morn?

And why recall my early friendships dear,—
Why lead my thoughts to fond illusions past?
They claim the plaintive tribute of a tear;
I weep for dreams of joy that fled so fast.

Ah! still will Fancy all the scenes revive,
The favourite scenes that charm'd my youthful

breast;

She bids them now in softer colours live,
And paints the cottage of domestic rest.

When Pleasure lighted up my sparkling eye,
And on swift pinions flew the social day;
Ah! then I pour'd the simple melody,

To hail the brilliance of the matin ray.

Ah! still retentive only to my woe,

Will Memory trace the picture of my cot;
And while in vain the tears of sorrow flow,
I rove in fancy to the sacred spot:

There fragrantwoodbines form'd a mantling bower;
And there I planted the luxuriant vine;
There Love and Friendship bless'd the festive hour,
While every rural happiness was mine.

Ah! thus will" sadly-pleasing" Memory dwell
On all the hopes, the fond illusions o'er;
And still with touching power she loves to tell
Of happy moments to return no more.

THE SONG OF A SERAPH.

Mrs. Hemans.

Lo! the dream of life is o'er;
Pain the Christian's lot no more!

Kindred spirits! rise with me,
Thine the meed of victory.

Now the angel-songs I hear,
Dying softly on the ear;

Spirit, rise to thee is given,

The light ethereal wing of heaven.

Now no more shall virtue faint,
Happy spirit of the saint;

Thine the halo of the skies,

Thine the seraph's paradise.

MEMORY.

Rev. Henry Alford.

COME to me often, sportive Memory :

Thy hands are full of flowers; thy voice is sweet; Thine innocent uncareful look doth meet

The solitary cravings of mine eye;

I cannot let thee flit unheeded by,

For I have gentle words, wherewith to greet
Thy welcome visits. Pleasant hours are fleet;
So let us sit and talk the sand-glass dry,
Dear visitant, who comest, dark and light,
Morning and evening, and with merry voice
Tellest of new occasion to rejoice;

And playest round me in the fairy night
Like a quaint spirit, on the moonlight beams,
Threading the mazy labyrinth of dreams.

TO MY BROTHER.

Mrs. Hemans.

MUSE of friendship, wake the lyre,
Strike it with unwonted fire;
Now my brother asks the lay,
The pleasing tribute let me pay.
Let the measure softly flow,

To give him all the thanks I owe ;
To wish him all my heart would say,
All that's happy, all that's gay.
Cherub health, with beaming eye,
Well-deserved prosperity,

Joy and honour, fortune, fame,
All that merit e'er can claim;

Inward peace, with placid mien,
And domestic joy serene.

May Heaven propitious deign to hear

This, a sister's genuine prayer.

POWER AND GENTLENESS.

Bernard Barton.

NOBLE the Mountain-stream,

Bursting in grandeur from its vantage-ground; Glory is in its gleam

Of brightness;-thundering in its deafening sound!

Mark, how its foamy spray,

Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes,
Mimics the bow of day
Arching in majesty the vaulted skies ;-

Thence in a summer-shower,

Steeping the rocks around :-O! tell me where
Could majesty and power
Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair?

Yet lovelier, in my view,
The Streamlet, flowing silently serene;

Traced by the brighter hue,

And livelier growth it gives ;-itself unseen;