240 
THE MOCKING BIRD’S NIGHT SONG. 
TURDUS POLYGLOTTUS. 
From Mr. Jennines’ unpublished Poem, 
“ Ornithologia.”’.. See Literary Varieties. 
Tur garish day is gone to rest, 
Then welcome, gentle Night ; 
I love thy silent solemn hours, 
When moon and stars are bright. 
I love, O Night! to hear repose 
In breathing slumbers sweet ; 
I love to hear thy crystal rills 
Slow murmuring at thy feet. 
Sweet Night! of love the tender nurse, 
I offer unto thee 
The holiest and the purest vows 
That e’er can offer’d be. 
Hast thou, sweet Night! a maiden seen, 
Array’d as seraph bright ? 
She wanders oft in yonder grove ; 
O tell me, gentle Night! 
Awake, O breeze! and bear my song 
To that fair seraph bright ; 
Tell her that love awaits her steps 
In the bowers of moonlight. 
Then, welcome be thy silent hours, 
' Thy moon and thy star-light, 
Thy deep repose, thy howers of bliss ; 
Thrice welcome, gentle Night. 
THE REDBREAST’S SONG. 
MOTACILLA RUBECOLA.—Tbid. 
Come listen unto me, love, 
Beside the eglantine ; 
Or listen unto me, love, 
Beneath the shady pine. 
I wish not far to roam, love, 
Delighted to entwine 
In some sweet rosy bower, love, 
Thy gentle arms with mine. 
I wish, afar from noise, love, 
From fraud and strife malign, 
With thee, in peace to dwell, love— 
Such wish is surely thine. 
T like a quiet home, love, 
Where I, and all that’s mine, 
In one encircling band, move 
With thee and all that’s thine. 
I Jove to look around, love, 
On cherubs that are mine ; 
And oh! how sweet the thought, love— 
Those cherubs, too, are thine. 
I like a quiet spot, love, 
Where all such things combine 
‘l'o make us truly blest, love— 
A home, almost divine. 
 EPIGRAM. 
« | press. the marriage knot,”’ cries bride- 
groom Will, 
“ Because it ties so firm two hearts in one.” 
“There’s many a one would bless it gladlier 
still,” 
Cries Nick, “if that same knot were made 
to run.”” 
Enort. 
Original Poetry. 
[Oct. 1, 
SONNET. 2 
THE POET. 
Losr in some sweet abstraction of his muse, 
The youthful poet wanders on his way; 
Fancy, in bright diversity of hues, 
Rich as young Flora’s coronet in May, 
Or as the rainbow, glittering through the 
"Tay, m¢? 
Which the sun prints on April’s watery 
face, 
Lures him a votary to her sentient sway, 
With fine-hued forms of ornament and 
grace. : 
Ah, poverty ! in vain would’st thou efface 
His generous glowings—high-rais’d hopes 
divine ; 
In vain would traffic’s hireling sons debase 
Those glorious lights that from heaven’s ra- 
diance shine ; 
From wrapt Imagination’s proudest sphere, 
The poet shines a central planet here. 
-Enort. 
SONNET. 
HOME, SWEET HOME, 
My wearied mind on you, my cottage sweet, 
Leans glad, as homewardly my steps draw 
near 
Where thou hast found thy sylvan joy’s 
retreat. : 
And, hark, what sounds of merriest mirth 
I hear !— ; 
It is my children: -they have caught the 
song, 
As through the woods I trill’d my artless lay, 
And the blythe-footed elves trip light along 
To meet their father on his homeward way, 
Like bees thick clustering round some 
floweret’s bell, 
Some mount his neck, some cling to either 
knee, 
How rich each sweet embrace, with heart- 
fond swell, 
Press’d on their roseate lips of infancy ! 
Meanwhile a richer bliss ’tis mine to share, 
When, at my cot arriy’d, Anna, I find thee 
there. Enort. © 
SONNET 
10 AN ABSENT SCHOOLFELLOW, 
Say, playmate of my boyish pastime hours, 
When void of care, with spirits gay and light, 
Both at one time in W—’s classic bowers, 
Trod the green paths of childhood with 
delight ; 
Firm as the ivy round the oak’s broad stem 
Our friendship grew, and both our hearts 
entwin’d; 
Ah little thought I at our parting, when 
We swore the self-same loye should ever 
bind, 
Affection thus should lose its recompense, 
And all our vows prove fruitless as the wind ; 
We meant not to deceive, for innocence 
Heldher pure seat, then, in each bosom kind ; 
But destiny, which wings fate’s wayward 
dart, 
Slew our young hopes, and fix’d our dooms 
apart. Enort. 
