When Life's warm fountains feel the frost of time,
When the cold dews of darkness close their eyes,
She shows the parting soul uprais'd sublime,
The brighter glories of her kindred skies.

Thus the pale moon whose pure celestial light
Has chased the gloomy clouds of heaven away,
Rests her white cheek with silver radiance bright
On the soft bosom of the western sea.

Lost in the glowing wave her radiance dies,
Yet while she sinks she points her ling'ring ray

To the bright azure of the orient skies,
To the fair dawning of the glorious day.

Like the tumultuous billows of the sea
Succeed the generations of mankind,
Some in oblivious silence pass away

And leave no vestige of their lives behind.

Others, like those proud waves which beat the shore
A loud and momentary murmur raise,

But soon their transient glories are no more,
No future ages echo with their praise,

Like yon proud rocks amidst the sea of time
Superior scorning all the billow's rage,
The living Sons of Genius stand sublime,
The immortal children of another age.

For those exist whose pure etherial minds
Imbibing portions of celestial day,

Scorn all terrestrial cares, all mean designs,
As bright-eyed Eagles scorn the lunar ray.

Theirs is the glory of a lasting name

The meed of Genius and her living fires, Theirs is the laurel of eternal fame,

And theirs the sweetness of the Muses lyres.

D. 1795.

The EBB TIDE.

Slowly thy flowing tide

Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes, As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side,. Behold the gentle rise.

With many a stroke and strong

The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, And yet the eye beheld them labouring long Between thy winding shores.

Now down thine ebbing tide The unlaboured boat falls rapidly along, The solitary helms-man sits to guide And sings an idle song.

Now o'er the rocks, that lay

So silent late, the shallow current roars;
Fast flow thy waters on their sea-ward way
Thro' wider-spreading shores.

Avon! I gaze and know

The wisdom emblemed in thy varying way,
It speaks of human joys that rise so slow,
So rapidly decay.

Kingdoms that long have stood

And slow to strength and power attain'd at last, Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood Ebb to their ruin fast.

So tardily appears

The course of time to manhood's envied stage,
Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing years
Then hasten to old age!

ERTHUSYO.

ELLEN,

By JOSEPH COTTLE.

Regardless of the boisterous scene,
On the cold and rocky shore;

The wretched Ellen sate serene,

Nor heard the troubled Ocean's roar.

She look'd upon the evening star,

And whilst the waves approach'd, she cried,

"Oh Edward! Edward! why so far

"From me, thy sad and plighted bride."

She look'd upon the twilight ray

That linger'd in the western sky,

And cried, "Oh Edward! wherefore, say, "That Ellen thus should sit and sigh "Dost thou now thy promise rue?

"Art thou false as I am true?