Then let my soul aspire to scale
Those lucid realms on high,
Where circling suns unnoted fail,
And where no shades are nigh:

There, one eternal cloudless sun
Divine effulgence beams;

And wide around his central throne

Unborrow'd glory streams.

Lloyd's Evening Post.

THE MADAGASCAR MOTHER.

The following is not an European fiction, it is a real Madagascar Song, brought from that island by the Chevalier de Porni.

"WHY shriek'st thou, weak girl? why this coward despair?

Thy tears and thy struggles are vain; Oppose me no more, of my curses beware! Thy terrors and grief I disdain."

The mother was dragging her daughter away
To the white man, alas! to be sold;

"Oh spare me !" she cry'd, "sure thou would'st not

betray

The child of thy bosom for gold?

"The pledge of thy love; I first taught thee to know A mother's affection and fears,

What crime has deserv'd thou should'st only bestow
Dishonour, and bondage, and tears?

"I tenderly sooth ev'ry sorrow and care;
To ease thee, unweary'd I toil;

The fish of the stream by my wiles I ensnare;
The meads of their flowers despoil;

"From the bleak wint'ry blast I have shelter'd thy head; Oft borne thee with zeal to the shade;

Thy slumbers have watch'd on the soft leafy bed;
The mosqueto oft chas'd from the glade.

"Who'll cherish thy age when from thee I am torn? Gold ne'er buys affection like mine!

Thou'lt bow to the earth, while despairing I mourn
Not my sorrows, or hardships, but thine.

"Then sell me not; save me from anguish and shame! No child thou hast, mother, but me!

Oh! do not too rashly abjure the dear claim;
My bosom most trembles for thee."

In vain she implor'd—wretched maid! she was sold,
To the ship chain'd and frantic convey'd;
Her parent and country ne'er more to behold,
By a merciless mother betray'd.

THE ROSE-BUD.

MARK the sweet rose-bud ere it blows,
While the dawn glimmers o'er the sky,
Observe its silken leaves unfold,
And fond of day's majestic eye!

At noon, more bold, in fullest bloom,
It spreads a gale of sweets around;
At eve it mourns the setting sun,
And sheds its honours on the ground.

So beauty's bashful bud appears,
So blushes in the eye of praise!
So ripens in the noon of life,

And wither'd-so in age decays.

Time is the canker-worm of youth,
It bites the blossom ere it blows;
It blasts the flow'r that blooms at full,
And rudely sheds the falling rose !

See, beauty, see! how love and joy,
On youth's light pinions haste away!
How swift the moments glide along,
And age advances with decay!

Now, beauty! crop the rose-bud now !
And catch the essence as it flies;
Let pleasure revel in its bloom,
Let time possess it when it dies!

Westminster Magazine.

CONTENT.

I Do not know a cheerless hour,
A cheerless hour I will not know;
Where fate directs her weightiest pow'r,
Good humour shall avert the blow.

My mind a kingdom is to me;" Sovereign of that, I rule alone; Though arbitrary, yet I'm free,

Nor seek nor wish another throne.

Let statesmen, with ambitious schemes,

Search for that bliss which none can find;

I envy not their idle dreams,

Blest with serenity of mind;

For ne'er had yet ambition's son,
One sober hour of solid joy;

His fluttering course when he has run,
Possession only serves to cloy:

While the sweet maid that I address,
Ne'er turns away a deafen'd ear;
Each day her charms I can possess,
Each day more lovely, and more dear.

To her my life I will devote,

With her shall ev'ry hour be spent ; Credit, ye swains, what I have wrote, For know, the virgin's nam'd coNTENT.

TO A LADY,

ON THE DEATH OF A BULLFINCH.

SINCE fate has stopp'd the warbler's song,
Which us'd to charm your ear,
Heed not, my fair, the vulgar throng,

Nor blush to shed a tear.

'Tis man alone, with impious pride,
Disdains the tender thought;
Whose breast to haughtiness ally'd,
By nature ne'er was taught.

Not his the care at early morn
To store with food the cage;
Such trivial acts he views with scorn,
Him loftier deeds engage.