Avails it, whether bare or shod,
These feet the path of duty trod?
If from the bowers of joy they fled.
To soothe affliction's humble bed;

If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned,
And home to virtue's lap returned—
These feet with angel's wings shall vie,
And tread the palace of the sky.
Manchester Exchange Herald.

THE GROUND SWELL.*

WRITTEN ON THE BREAKWATER, PLYMOUTH SOUND.

THE Sun is high, the Atlantic is unfanned
Even by the breathing of the gentle West ;
And yet the broad blue flood is not at rest!
Amid the holy calm on sea and land,
There is a murmuring on the distant strand;
And silently, though Ocean heaves its breast,
The shoreward swellings wear a feathery crest,
And meet the opposing rocks in conflict grand.
These, ships that dare the eternal winds and seas,
In the commotion, roll without a breeze,
And as their sides the huge upswellings lave,
His flagging sails the listless seaman sees,
And wishes rather for the winds to rave,
And, like an arrow, dart him o'er the wave.
Literary Gazette.

N. T. C.

*The Ground Swell is principally occasioned by storms in the Atlantic, which agitate the sea many days after the tempests have ceased. The ocean heaves, as it were, in masses, but its surface is quite smooth, i. e. unbroken into waves, and without foam, except where it comes in contact with the coast.

MIRKWOOD MERE.

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

LATE, when the Autumn evening fell,
On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell;
The lake returned, in chastened gleam,
The purple cloud, the golden beam;
Reflected in the crystal pool,
Headland and bank lay fair and cool;
The weather-tented rock and tower,
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower;
So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
As if they lay beneath the wave,
Secure from trouble, toil, and care,—
A world than earthly world more fair.

But distant winds began to wake,
And roused the Genius of the Lake!
He heard the groaning of the oak,
And donned at once his sable cloak;
As warrior at the battle cry,
Invests him with his panoply;

Then, as the whirlwind nearer pressed,

Began to shake his foamy crest

O'er furrowed brow and blackened cheek,
And bade his surge in thunder speak.
In wild and broken eddies whirled,
Flitted that fond ideal world;
And to the shore in tumult tost,

The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

Yet, with a stern delight and strange,

I saw the spirit-stirring change!

As warred the wind with wave and wood,
Upon the ruined tower I stood,

And felt my heart more strongly bound,
Responsive to the lofty sound;
While joying in the mighty roar,

I mourned that tranquil scene no more.

So, on the idle dreams of youth
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of Truth,
Bids each fair vision pass away,
Like landscape on the lake that lay;
As fair, as flitting, and as frail,

As that which fled the Autumn gale;
For ever dead to Fancy's eye,

Be each fair form that glided by;

While dreams of love, and lady's charms,
Give place to honour and to arms!

Waverley.

A PRAYER.

BY WILLIAM BECKFORD, ESQ.

LIKE the low murmur of the secret stream,

Which, through dark alders, winds its shaded way, My suppliant voice is heard:-Ah! do not deem That on vain toys I throw my hours away.

In the recesses of the forest vale,

On the wild mountain,— -on the verdant sod, Where the fresh breezes of the morn prevail,— I wander lonely, communing with God.

When the faint sickness of a wounded heart,

Creeps in cold shudderings through my sinking frame,

I turn to thee,-that holy peace impart

Which soothes the invokers of thy awful name.

O all-pervading Spirit !-Sacred beam!

Parent of life and light!—Eternal Power!

Grant me, through obvious clouds, one transient gleam Of thy bright essence in my dying hour!

Britton's Fonthill Abbey.

THE CONTRAST,

WRITTEN UNDER WINDSOR TERRACE, 17TH FEB. 1820.

BY HORACE SMITH, ESQ.

I SAW him last on this Terrace proud,
Walking in health and gladness;

Begirt with his Court, and in all the crowd,
Not a single look of sadness.

Bright was the sun, and the leaves were green,—
Blithely the birds were singing;—

The cymbal replied to the tambourine,
And the bells were merrily ringing.

I have stood with the crowd beside his bier,
When not a word was spoken,

But every eye was dim with a tear,

And the silence by sobs was broken.

I have heard the earth on his coffin pour,
To the muffled drum's deep rolling ;
While the minute gun, with its solemn roar,
Drowned the death-bell's tolling.

The time since he walked in his glory thus,
To the grave till I saw him carried,
Was an age of the mightiest change to us,
But to him a night unvaried.

We had fought the fight; from his lofty throne
The foe of our land we had tumbled,

And it gladdened each eye-save his alone
For whom that foe we humbled.

A daughter beloved-a Queen-a son—
And a son's sole child had perished ;-
And sad was each heart, save the only one
By which they were fondest cherished.

For his eyes were sealed, and his mind was dark, And he sat in his age's lateness,

Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark

Of the frailty of human greatness.

His silver beard, o'er a bosom spread,
Unvexed by life's commotion,

Like a yearly-lengthening snow-drift, shed
On the calm of a frozen ocean.

Still o'er him oblivion's waters lay,

Though the stream of time kept flowing; When they spoke of our King twas but to say, That the old man's strength was going.

He is gone at length. He is laid in dust-
Death's hand his slumbers breaking,
For the coffined sleep of the good and just,
Is a sure and blissful waking.

His people's heart is his funeral urn;

And should a sculptured stone be denied him, There will his name be found, when in turn We lay our heads beside him.

London Magazine.

FRAGMENT.

SEE April comes! a primrose coronal,
Circling her sunny temples, and her vest,
Pranked with the hare-bell and the violet,
Like a young widow, beautiful in tears,
She ushers in the Spring!