TO POESY. 437 



so far perhaps to be disappointed, dismissed her kindly ; and Ruth 

 took her long walk back again into the City, scarcely sensible of the 

 distance, so much was her mind engaged. 



When the favourable note arrived, it invited her to Brompton to 

 take tea, at an early hour, with Mrs. Somerive, who wished to have 

 some conversation with her. She went, and the result was that she 

 took possession of her apartment three days' before the opening of the 

 school, by which means all her little arrangements for her own 

 comfort were made before she entered upon her duties, and, what 

 was of more importance, she became a little familiarized to the 

 house and its inmates. 



CTo be continued. J 



TO POESY. 



BY ROBERT STYLES. 



All colours blend for thee, and glow 



In light celestial o'er thy brow. 



All fragrance mingles in one urn. 



As incense at thy feet to burn. 



All beauty from earth, sea, and skies, 



Presents to thee its sacrifice. 



Thine is the music of the spheres, 



And seraph voices greet thine ears, 



And scenes to mortal ken unknown 



Surround the glory of thy throne. 



Thine eye can track the foot of Time 



And see his future march sublime. 



Pierce into dark Oblivion's sea, 



And wander through eternity. 



The pencil with thy beauty glows. 



And music from thy rapture tlows. 



Wliate'er of beauty Art can bring. 



Sweet Poesy, from thee must spring. 



I would, a grateful son of thine. 



Present my offering at thy shrine ; 



P'or tliou to me hast been a joy. 



Nor scorn nor envy could destroy, 



Of hidden treasure wert the key. 



And woke the silent harmony 



That long had slept within my breast, 



And in my song hast made me blest. 



Tliougii some may say, with envious tongue, 



My lyre had better lain unstrung. 



They caimot give nor take away 



Th(! rapture that iiis|)ires my lay ; 



For, to the true and faithful bard. 



Thou art thyself {\\y own reward. 



