VII.

Beautiful group! your happy glee,

Your gladsome roar and rout,

Never will be forgot by me;
But your exulting shout

Shall haunt with bliss my memory still,
Like music from a far-off hill.

VIII.

'Twas on a bright and beaming day, Within a glorious land,

I saw your faces, and for aye

That lovely scene shall stand;

On your own heath, by your own river, There shall you laugh and play for ever.

IX.

I never more may tread your soil,
Or should I, may not bear
That spirit which, undimmed by toil,
Breathes over earth and air

A charm, a glory, a delight,
Making the very tempest bright.

x.

Never more may I gaze on you,

Or should I, must survey

Nothing like that enchanting view

Which thence I bore away.

Alas! should I not find you then

Bowed to the woes and thrall of men?

XI.

Time's silent scathe, the spell of care,
Will through your souls have gone ;
From you the mirth, the merry air,
The magic have passed on
To some obstreperous little crew,
Blessed and beautiful as you.

XII.

I would not see, I would not know

One passage of your fate,—
But on you fancy shall bestow
A never-changing state;
And there, in beauty and in glee,
Your joy shall live a joy to me.

XIII.

That lovely, round-faced, mimic lass,
Shall chatter, leap, and dance;
And mirth, as sunshine from a glass,
Shall from her blue eyes glance,—
Casting their living glow on you,
Ye blessed little Highland crew.

SONNET.

THE FISHING SEAT-WHITE KNIGHTS.

BY MISS M. R. MITFORD.

THERE is a sweet accordant harmony

In this fair scene: this quaintly-fluted bower,
These sloping banks, with tree, and shrub, and flower
Bedecked, and these pure waters where the sky,

In its deep blueness, shines so peacefully ;—
Shines all unbroken, save with sudden light,
When some proud swan, majestically bright,
Flashes her snowy beauty on the eye;—
Shines all unbroken, save with sudden shade,
When from the delicate birch a dewy tear

The west wind brushes. Even the bee's blithe trade,
The lark's clear carols, sound too loudly here:

A spot it is for far-off music made,

Stillness and rest,-a smaller Windermere !

[These lines were inserted in my friend Mrs. Hofland's elegant description of White Knights, printed for private distribution by the Duke of Marlborough.]

THE BIRD-CATCHER.

From Bion.

BY THE HON. AND REV. H. HOWARD.

A STRIPLING Once, within the grove,
In search of game, found truant Love
Perched on a boxen tree.

The bird inviting looked, and big;
He placed his bird-lime and his twig,
But little luck had he.

Love hopped above him and about him,-
It seemed as if he meant to flout him;

Till, full of perturbation,

He sought an old and cunning swain,
And 'gan of his mishap complain,

And showed young Cupid's station.

The senior, smiling, shook his head;
And "leave alone the bird," he said,
66 He's little worth when taken.
Perhaps, before you 're twenty-two,
He'll choose to come and sit on you,
Nor off again be shaken."

THE DISTANT SHIP.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

I.

THE sea-bird's wing, o'er ocean's breast,
Shoots like a glancing star,

While the red radiance of the west

Spreads kindling fast and far

And yet that splendour wins thee not,-
Thy still and thoughtful eye
Dwells but on one dark, distant spot

Of all the main and sky.

II.

Look round thee!-o'er the slumbering deep
A solemn glory broods;
A fire hath touched the beacon-steep,

And all the golden woods:

A thousand gorgeous clouds on high

Burn with the amber light ;

What spell, from that rich pageantry,
Chains down thy gazing sight?

C C