And the streams which danced on the broken rocks,

Or sang to the leaning grass,

Shall bow again to their winter chain,
And in mournful silence pass.

He comes he comes-the Frost Spirit comes!
Let us meet him as we may,

And turn with the light of the parlour-fire

His evil power away;

And gather closer the circle round,

When that fire-light dances high,

And laugh at the shriek of the baffled fiend. As his sounding wing goes by!

GOLD.

THE PARTING OF SUMMER.
THOU'RT bearing hence thy roses.
Glad summer, fare thee well!
Thou'rt singing thy last melodies
In every wood and dell.

But ere the golden sunset
Of thy latest lingering day,
Oh! tell me, o'er the chequer'd earth,
How hast thou passed away?

Brightly, sweet summer! brightly

Thine hours have floated by,

To the joyous birds of the woodland boughs, The rangers of the sky:

And brightly in the forests

To the wild deer wandering free; And brightly 'mid the garden flowers To the happy murmuring bee:

But how to human bosoms,
With all their hopes and fears,
And thoughts that make them eagle wings,
To pierce the unborn years?

Sweet summer! to the captive

Thou hast flown in burning dreams Of the woods with all their whispering leaves, And the blue, rejoicing streams ;—

To the wasted and the weary,

On the bed of sickness bound, In swift delirious fantasies,

That changed with every sound;

To the sailor on the billows,

In longings wild and vain,

For the gushing founts and breezy hills
And the homes of earth again!

And unto me, glad summer!

How hast thou flown to me?

My chainless footsteps nought hath kept
From thy haunts of song and glee.

Thou hast flown in wayward visions,
In memories of the dead-
In shadows from a troubled heart,
O'er thy sunny pathway shed;

In brief and sudden strivings
To fling a weight aside-
'Midst these thy melodies have ceas'd, .
And all thy roses died.

But oh! thou gentle summer,

If I greet thy flowers once more,

Bring me again the buoyancy
Wherewith my soul should soar !
Give me to hail thy sunshine,
With song and spirit free;
Or in a purer air than this
May that meeting be.

MRS. HEMANS.

ON MUNGO PARK'S FINDING A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN DESERT.*

THE sun had reached his mid-day height, And poured down floods of burning light On Afric's barren land;

*"Whatever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. I saw myself in the midst of a vast wilderness, in the depth of the rainy season, naked and alone, surrounded by savage animals, and men still more savage. I was five hundred miles from the nearest European settlement. At this moment, painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary beauty of a small moss in fructification irresistibly caught my eye. I mention this to show from what trifling circumstances the mind will sometimes derive consolation; for though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsule, without admiration. Can that Being, thought I, who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not. I started up; and disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forward, assured that relief was at hand, and I was not disappointed."-Park's Travels.