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But, ah! as thistles on the blast

From every garden bed are cast,

And fade on dreary wastes at last,

So die bachelors.

Then, Thomas, change that grublike skin,

Your butterfly career begin,

And fly, and swear that 'tis a sin

To be a bachelor.

1

E. W. C.

SONNET.

'TWAS at the very acme of her power

That Rome received the touch of that small stone, Destined to overturn her. At the hour,

When by his resurrection God made known

The Son whom he had chosen to bear rule

Over the nations; of the then known world

Great Rome was mistress. Banner was there none Against her majesty on earth unfurl'd.

Only a still small voice was gently heard,

Which spoke, at first in parables, 'gainst all

Standing opposed to God. Thus ran the word : "Jerusalem is falling; Rome shall fall.”

Jerusalem was anger'd. Haughty Rome

Heard not, or laugh'd; but both have felt their doom.

F. G.

LINES

WRITTEN IN THE ALCOVE AT CAVERSHAM PARK.

BY SIR THOMAS ELMSLEY CROFT, BART.

THOU who from worldly cares wouldst fain retreat,
Seek this alcove, recline upon its seat,
And gaze at leisure with enchanted eyes

On the fair propect that before thee lies;

So shall kind nature shed her choicest balm

Thine every sense to please, and every passion calm.

Hark! the ever-vagrant bee

Soothes thee with her melody,
Murmuring still her matin song,
As she gaily sports along.

Hark! the stockdove's tender voice
Bids his amorous mate rejoice;
Thrush's lay and blackbird's note
On the breeze alternate float;

And many a rural sound salutes the ear,
To charm, enliven, animate, and cheer.

See what ranks of fragrant flowers,
Gemm'd with morning's dewy showers;

Mingled with carnations' bloom,
Glows the golden blossom'd broom;
Lavender in purple beds,

All around its perfume sheds ;
Heliotrope and balmy heath,

Waving, blend their odorous breath.
Each fresh-blown flow'ret, pure and redolent,

Fann'd by the gale, pours forth its sweetest scent.

Look above the feathery pine
Bids its pensile boughs decline,
To o'erarch this tranquil seat,
Shading it from noontide heat;
While laburnum's yellow hair
Wantons in the sultry air,

And its tresses interweaves

With the laurel's varnish'd leaves :

Soft sounds, rich fragrance, prospects bright
Enchant the ear, the scent, and sight.

Then thou, who wouldst from worldly cares retreat, Seek this alcove-recline upon its seat,

And gaze at leisure, with enchanted eyes,

On the fair landscape that before thee lies;

For here kind Nature sheds her choicest balm,

Thine every sense to please, and every passion calm.

ELTHAM BARN.

This interesting relic of feudal magnificence is situated close to the village of Eltham, in Kent, where the early monarchs of England had a noble palace, and where they occasionally held their courts. The ruin, here more particularly alluded to, was the great Banqueting Hall: it is of spacious dimensions, exhibiting considerable beauty in respect to the style of its architecture, and is covered with an oaken roof, similar in character to those of Crosby and Westminster halls. Its present application is to the services of a barn, calves' pen, and poultry house.

WHAT stately remnant 'fore my sight appears,
Clad in the verdant vestiture of years ?
A's some fair girl, in all her early charms,
Sustains a father in her twining arms,
Her head depending o'er his aged breast-
At once a blessing and a being bless'd;
So, o'er yon walls the ivy spreads its leaves,
Imparting still the succour it receives.

Behold the pile! and while, in humble guise, Reality is present to thine eyes,

Invoke young fancy, till, with wizard pow'r,
She cause the past to be reacted o'er.

Strange contrast! See, where waving plumes draw

near,

While martial music swells upon the ear;

Clang the loud cymbals, and the trumpets sound,
Neighs the proud war-horse as he spurns the ground,
Helms, spears, and bucklers glitter in the sky,
And fluttering banners woo the breeze on high;
The proud procession comes in regal state,
Swing on its brazen hinge the pond'rous gate:
Within the hall, behold where hundreds crowd
In all the pomp and pageantry so proud
Of feudal days; the tables 'neath the weight
Of sumptuous viands crack and massive plate :
While each fair dame smiles on her duteous knight;
And round the hall swift Echo wings her flight.

How chang'd the scene! Where once th' enchanting song,

And music peal'd in soothing strains along,
The watch dog barks, as howls the tempest round
The ruin'd fane with hollow murmuring sound.
No more the portal opens wide and high
Tadmit the glittering train of chivalry ;

But, slowly yielding to the stranger's thrust,
Creaks in the dire discordancy of rust.

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