News from Parnassus.. .Nd. f'l. 



424 



Holhing that resembles it by any other 

 writer. We wisfi wc coul«l find 

 room for the whole, but we must tnin- 

 teu*^! ourselves with an extract. 

 ' Thy youthful honours spread in Summer's 



P"de, ,,.,. ^T li.W.-' i 



\^'ith g'ay green leaves, and Bbp,^^ white 



blossoms crowned, ji, i, ,,i i-,, y:: 

 AVhile kindred branches waYpd pa erery 



side, 

 And friendly elms cast their broad sha- 

 dows round ; 

 ' The dark-green fir, to shield thee from 



the blast. 

 And toweriug- pine, perennial verdure 



«pread ; 

 The beech, abroad his sheltering arras 



would eatrt ; 

 And mountaiu-ash display his berries 



redj 



* Her golden flowers the gay laburnum 



buug; 

 The weeping birch,at morn, her fragrance 



gave; 

 Beneath thy shade, the scented primrose 



sprung ; 

 And Leven flowed, thy spreading roots 



to lave ; 



* The goldfinch twittered from thy branches 



green, 

 And in thy bosom built her downy nest ; 

 At early morn, the mavis oft was seen, 

 i*ressiug thy blossoms to her speckled 

 breast. 



' The pearly dew that gemmed thy virgin 

 flowers 

 Was oft, at midnight, brushed by hands 

 unseen, 

 And borne in cowslip cups, to fairy bowers, 



As morning nectar for the elfin queen. 

 ' In Summer's eve, beneath thy fragrant 

 shade. 

 Love whispered soft, or heaved the secret 

 sigh; 

 While not a star the conscious blush be- 

 trayed, 

 Nor moon-beam glisteued on the tell-tale 



eye: 

 *♦*••♦ 



' Though changing seasons doomed thee 

 oft to mourn, 

 Thy foliage swept by ruflian winds 

 away ; 

 'Twas but to wait the g«nial Spring's re- 

 turn, 

 Again to wanton in the sweets of May. 



' Alas ! that Springy returns to thee no 

 ^ more! 



Thy sweets no long» scent the dews of 

 ' morn ; 



These withered arms proclaim tliy triumph 

 o'er ; 

 The woodland songsters now, thy shel- 

 ter scorn. 



[June J . 



♦ Where once the Tdavift poured his mellow 

 ■ -tay, . • -" --.i/.-,U I.. -H-j.' u.i: r 

 To hail the iHorti)^lHtf fe«Sttli*'TBWt**r6 

 amonsT, ,'/ 



The raven oils, upon thy naked spray. 

 And hoarsely boding, croaks tl>y i^ner al 

 song. .. . , ,|,t ,„,, |.,.,, , ^ 



' No more fay niOodlight,' bii^ the dafel'ed 



•JPilSS 



Shall tiny fairies thrid Ihe mazy daoce. 

 Beneath thy shade ; or o'er the blossom^ 



paa<;, 

 And in the dew-drops smile with magic 



glance. 



' Dfcayed, deserted, doomed aJqn^itO/P^tPj 



The silciit lapse of Time condemned 'to 



prove ; 



Beneath thy shads no more shall youth 



recliue, ' ■ ■'"^'■- i-" ■■''■"'■'<: ■ ' 



To whispir soft the tender trfl^'df love.' , 



Tliere are two <nles. To thnsc, wlio 

 relisli fliis species of comi>osi(iou, tiie 

 '• Oile to Folly" will not be niiiutcrest- 

 inj:;. There are also " Hymns from 

 Scripture" (only seven pages) whi<ii 

 may bo coniparerl, not disiulvantagc- 

 ously, Avilh those of Dr. Watts. « It 

 is sullicient to have (lone l.ettt r than 

 others what no man has doue well.*' 



We now come to the '• Miscellanies," 

 of which it would be ditficult to ifivca 

 general character. Many of them ap; 

 pear to us to be extremely beautifiil, 

 and. perhaps, some, which we do 'lot 

 include in the number of our favourites, 

 may be still more agnseahle to other 

 minds. The thoupht of the following 

 is sai I to be taken from Delille's 

 '' L' Homme du Champs," but it eeiv 

 tainly is not a servile translation : v i 



On the Cusfom of planting Plovers on thS 

 Graves of departed Friends. ■ "^ -■ 



To 'scape from chill Misfortuue's gloottj. 

 From palsied A^e, and joyless yeai%,| ' ' 



To sleep, wliere flowrcts round us blooAR' 

 Can such a fate deserve our tears ? '' , 



Since in the tomb, our cares, our woes,, ,,, 



In dark Oblivion buried lie, , ,.^ 



\Vhy paint that sceue of calm repose, 



In figures painful to the eye ? 

 The wiser Greeks, with chaste design, 



Pourtrayed a nymph in airy flight. 

 Who, hovering oer the marble shrine. 



Reversed a taper's trembling light. 

 To die what is in death to fear ? 



'Twill decompose my lifeless frame ! 

 A power unseen, still watches near. 



To light it with a purer flame : 

 And when anew, that flame shall burn, 



Perhaps, the dust that lies enshrined, 

 May rise a woodbine o'er the urn, 



AVith verdant tendrils round it twined. 

 How 



