33(1 Original Poetry. 



Hwpit ; and esteem their legal benefac- 

 fors as tyrants and oppressors, because 

 they are unable, or imwilling to give 

 what is often insolently demanded. 



Nov, Sir, if the legislature cannot 

 alter the laws respecting the poor, what 

 can be done to improve the degraded 

 character of our once industrious and 

 honest labourers ? Permit me to pro- 

 pose two or three questions : which I 

 shall feel exceedingly obliged to some 

 of your nuraeroxis correspondents to 

 answer: and for the insertion of which 

 in your miscellany, I shall be equally 

 thankful to you. 



1. How Diay the poor be best em- 

 ployed in agricultural districts ? 



[May I, 



2. Wliat is tbc lM!st metliod of pre- 

 venting the impositions tiiat are prac- 

 tised on overseers ? 



3. If small portions of land have 

 been let to the poor in any parish, how 

 has this plan succeeded ? 



The maintenance of the poor can 

 never be considered a subject of minor 

 importance: and when their support 

 can only be insured by an inordinate 

 charge upon those whom the laws oblige 

 to provide for them ; and when it is 

 considered how many vices are pro- 

 duced by the present state of things, it 

 will appear to all a matter of great 

 magnitude. W. Wright. 



St. /ves, ^pril&th, 1821. 



ORIGINAL POETRY. 



ADDRESS TO SPRING. 



From bowers of amaranthine bloom, 



O lovely, lovely Spring, tlraw near. 

 And hence dismiss chill Winter's gloom, 



And wake with smiles the new born year. 

 With light green leaves, and opening flowers, 



Once more perfume, and dress the grove, 

 And slied thy fostering dews and showers. 



Fair Sylvan " Queen of rural love." 

 To yon dark cell as Winter fleets 



While Flora spreads her mantle gar, 

 Collect those rich luxuriant sweet.«, 



Which bind the rosy brows of May ! 

 Whilst I with nymphs, and " village hinds," 



In lively dance, and frolic play, 

 As round thy beauteous landscape shines, 



To thee fair Spring our homage pay. 



T. Enort Smith. 

 Lamb Green, Ber monds ey-itreet. 



STANZAS. 



Is there a woe without alloy ; 



A grief without one gleam of gladness ; 

 A heart that ne'er may taste of joy; 



A settled sadness 

 That crushes hope, that damps desire, 

 That chills the glow of youthful fire, 

 Or hurries on the soul to madness ? 

 A holy joy, n soothing calm 

 Falls on the heart like healing balm 

 When o'er the tomb or grassy sod 

 Where sleeps the humble man of God ; 

 Or the wife of our bosom, the slay of our age 



The parent that reared us ;— the Onethat 

 we loved. 

 Or the friend that was ours thro' life's drear 

 pilgrimage, 



In sorrow unchanged and in splendour 

 unmoved. 

 We drop the tear, nor mingle there 

 The moody fierceness of despair. 

 But call the tranquil thoughts that twine 

 Aromnd the Christian's hq^es divine, 



uH 



To still the tumult of the breast 

 And speak of hope and Heaven, 



And that serene and cloudless rest^ 

 The grave to them bath given. '"^ " '^ '^^^ 



Aye — aye — the onlij, aye the *in^/e grief 

 That brooks not, nor can feel relief; , ,,■■ 

 The one unmixed agony, , , 



From which the soul can never fly. 

 Springs from the broken hopes of yout^ ^^j^ , 



When too confiding trust we lend 

 To worldling's friendship, vows, and truth. 



That, sapling like, they twist and bend 



As suits their purpose; ...Then %(( i^efaiipm 

 deep : , • ' 



A grief is seated when we cannot weep ; 



For when the reed we leant on stabs our 

 side. 



What boots the gushing of the briny tide. 



Bebtrand. 



THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL. 

 Farewell, dear Maid, from thee I pari, 

 O Lucy with a leaden heart ; ^ ^^^ j 



But lo, my country calls ! ',^_, 



Love sweetly whispers, " Soldier stijG", ; 

 But Glory beckons me away, ,'^- '' 



And points to Egypt's walls. ', , . , 

 Love sweetly whispers " Soldier stay/' 

 But glory beckons me away. 

 Again farewell — again we meet. 

 By thee inspir'd I danger greet, 



And hail the sound of arms; 

 And should a laurel wreath be mine 

 That laurel, Luc)-, will be thine 



Obtained by Lucy's charms. 

 Love sweetly whispers " Soldier stay," 

 But Glory beckons me away. 



THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 



Let me fly to the girl whom my wishes 

 adore 

 Now Fortune has favoured her friend— 

 The day is our own, and the foe is no more. 

 No longer their legions contend. 



Flac'd 



