(588 MONTHLY KKV1EW OF LITERATURE. 



The writer of the words, whoever he may be, has concealed his name. The 

 following is a fair specimen of the poetry. 



Sweetest of waters 



Round which my childhood strayed, 

 Deeming life's freshness, 



Like thine, would nevor fade. 

 But manhood spreads before me, 

 Life romance closes o'er me, 

 And hope's bright sunny light 

 Is sinking from my sight. 



Sweetest of echos 



My childhood loved to wake, 

 Dreaming that thou wert 



The naid of the lake. 

 No more when evening closes, 

 Heaven's western bow'rs of roses, 

 Shall I, on thy sweet shore, 

 Awake thine echoes more. 



Rondinofor the Piano Forte, from the Cctvatina in Zelmira Car a, deh attendimi, by 

 Czerny. 



Rondoletto agevole e brilliante, for the Piano Forte, by Ch. Chaulieu. London. Pub- 

 lished by T. Welch, at the Royal Harmonic Institution, 246, Regent Street. 



The names of Chaulieu and particularly of Czerny, are so well known to 

 almost all piano forte players, that it would be nearly needless in us to say 

 much in praise of either of the above pieces. They are by no means difficult 

 for the generality of performers of the present day, and yet they possess all the 

 characteristic merits for which either of the above composers have become cele- 

 brated. We can safely recommend them. 



The Lost Cavalier. Composed by CHARLES HODGSON. 



Lilian May ; the Words and Melody by W. BALL ; the Symphonies and Accom- 

 paniments byJ. MOSCHELES. London. Published by J. Duff and Co., Oxford 

 Street. 

 " The Lost Cavalier," is an effective melody, Avell adapted to the words, and 



correctly accentuated. We think it both deserving and likely to become a 



favourite with the public. 



" Lilian May," is an exceedingly pleasing air, and is set off by the symphonies 



and accompaniments of Mr. Moscheles, in the most attractive manner. The 



poetry, though it does not possess the deep interest of " Allan Water," reminds 



us thereof, in the pleasing symplicity of the story which it contains. We shall 



therefore, give it to our readers. 



Oh, where is Lilian May, 



With her eye of bonny blue, 

 And her lip like op'ning rose, 



Giving odours to the dew. 

 Why comes she not to greet me, 



Upon my homeward way. 



Oh, where is Lilian May. 

 I see the well-known spire, 



That crowns her peaceful bower ; 

 Why hear I not the swelling peals, 



That tells of happy hours ? 

 The path is here the path of all 



Who meet on Holy-day 

 But where is Lilian May ? 



