A broken fragment, black, and scorched, and burnt, still marks the spot; and Portuguese guides, with scarcely suppressed exultation, relate to travellers the fate of the regiment of French cuirassiers, and the Peasant of

Portugal.

SONNET.

On leaving a favourite Picture.

BY MISS M. R. MITFORD.

YOUNG world of peace and loveliness farewell!
Farewell to the clear lake, the mountains blue;
The grove, whose tufted paths our eyes pursue
Delighted; the white cottage in the dell

By yon old church; the smoke from that small cell
Amid the hills slow rising; and the hue

Of summer air, fresh, delicate, and true,

Breathing of light and life—the master spell!
Work of the Poet's eye, the Painter's hand,
How close to nature art thou, yet how free
From earthly stain! The beautiful, the bland,
The rose, the nightingale, resemble thee:-
Thou art most like the blissful fairy-land

Of Spenser, or Mozart's fine melody.

THE CONTADINA.

BY DELTA.

I.

Most cheerful Contadina!-thy lapsing years glide

o'er,

Serenely, like the elfin waves that melt on Nemi's

shore;

Thy heart is full of pleasant thoughts, thy tongue is void of guile,

The eloquence of purest truth effulges in thy smile;

No dark malignant passions break thy bosom's chaste

repose,

But softest sleep and sweetest dreams thy tranquil spirit knows ;

Through sunny day and starry night propitious fates

decree

Whate'er of brightest, blithest, best, the world contains for thee!

II.

Most lovely Contadina !-in thy sparkling, speaking eye, Gleams the purity and depth of thine own Italian sky;