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Man must not spare to spell with care
And know, thou wilt be charged with guilt
The hermit wise (my friend replies),
With equal truth might say,
"This word for me, not do but BE,
Has sempiternal sway.
Effect from cause in Nature's laws
Our succour little needs;
There may be debt for pardon yet
In thy most virtuous deeds."
From the Poetical Remains, of Mrs. GREY, better known as MARY ANNE BROWNE.
Он, woe for those whose dearest themes
Must rest within the bosom's fold;
To nothing in this earthly sphere;
Where nothing mortal may appear—
Such his perplexing woe who seeks
A refuge upon stranger shores;
In vain their sympathy implores;
And an unmeasured deep before.
The world doth scorn them, gibe, contemn;
Another of W. M. PRAED's graceful Enigmas will be welcome to the reader. The solution is left to his own sagacity.
UNCOUTH Was I of face and form,
Not a warrior went to the battle plain,
Within my second's dark recess
And ever the shriek rang loud within,
My priests are rotting in their grave,
Of all that was divine;
My name and my memory pass away;-
SUN, MOON, AND STARS.
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT, now in his seventy-seventh year, is a Pomeranian, a patriot, a poet, and a professor of philosophy. He has read much, written much, seen much, and suffered much; and no man enjoys a higher character among his countrymen for all the qualities that adorn human nature. His works are very voluminous; but as an author he is chiefly known to the great body of German readers by his songs, most of which are characterized by peculiar fire, energy, and
intensity of expression, though some of his lighter lays, on the other hand, have a childish playfulness about them, that renders them quite the antithesis of those that have gained him the most popularity. A translation of one of these, as a sort of curiosity, is taken from an old number of the Dublin University Magazine.
Oн, the Sun he walks a gentleman full grown,
Though this is but the morning of his birth,
And prepares to make his tour around the earth;
Get you gone! All alone
Must I take my daily journey round the earth.”
And prepares to make her tour around the earth,
But mind and don't fall out with one another,
Must we thus, all of us,
Make in company our journey round the earth."
So, ever since, from evening until morn,
The golden stars accompany their Queen;
And the earth, and all that on the earth are born,
He in vain duns his brain,
While the Sun is dazzling prosers by his sheen.
Now! it is gone.-Our brief hours travel post,
Full in the middle of this pleasantness
A WITCH'S CAVE.
There once a charnel-house, now a vast cave,
Throws out her heavy shade, the mouth, thick arms
Pines in eternal night; the steam of hell
Yields not so lazy air. There, that's her cell.
MARSTON'S Wonder of Women.
What is heaven? A globe of dew,
Filling in the morning new
Some eyed flower, whose young leaves waken On an unimagined world:
Constellated suns unshaken,
Orbits measureless, are furl'd
In that frail and fading sphere,
Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit,
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd,
He had been rear'd
Among the mountains, and he in his heart
And blew with the same breath for days and weeks,
Along the cloudless main, he, in those hours
Of tiresome indolence, would often hang
Over the vessel's side, and gaze and
And while the broad green wave and sparkling foam
Saw mountains-saw the forms of sheep that grazed
In his words
There was an athletic sinew, though they play'd
A SEA BEACH.
The bridegroom sea