It glitters on our ravish'd eyes,
We grasp the phantom-soon it dies,
And leaves the mind more dark.

How

SPRING.

quick advance the charms of spring! Salubrious breathes the western gale, Dispensing sweets on festive wing,

Fresh odours wanton o'er the dale; The opening buds on every spray Proclaim the mild approach of May.

See, Delia, flitting on each tree,

The sprightly tenents of the grove: Their gentle bosoms, fraught with glee, Pour forth the grateful strains of love; While springing fields our steps invite, The heart dilates with pure delight.

The busy bee, with zeph'rus flies

To seek the dell where snow-drops bloom; To hoard the hive, he gaily hies

Where violets shed a rich perfume;

How wise the little sage divine

Does use and pleasure both combine.

Could mortals thus, with equal skill,
Select the pleasures they pursue,

And every duty they fulfil

Would learn to make it pleasing too:

How sweetly life would pass away,
And smile in one perennial May.

The stream long pent in fetters strong,
Disclaims stern Winter's rigid reign,
Its mellow'd current glides along,

And gently laves the enamour'd plain;
But when it swells with gathering stores,
Like rampant power, proudly roars.

While thus kind nature opens round
Her lov'liest forms to bless our eyes,
Say, Delia, can there not be found
A moral too, to make us wise?

Who looks through nature's works, will find
Sweet manna for the craving mind.

And while we greet instinctive joy
In natures far beneath our own,
They teach us how we should employ
God's gifts, in us more amply shown.
Each mental power we truly raise,
In tributes of immortal praise.

The vegetable world that springs

From death to vig'rous life new-born, To faith's remembrance sweetly brings The glorious resurrection morn; When the last trump's earth-shaking sound Shall bid the grave with life be crown'd.

Ah! may we seek with fervent heart,

The pard'ning grace of love divine,

And meet in faith, death's welcome dart,
The avenue to mercy's shrine;
Then from the tomb new trophies bring,
And rise to an eternal spring.

'Tis folly, sure, to shun the beams of light,
And woo the mists that dim our better sight.

IN observing the great variety of pursuits, both of

pleasure and of profit, which occupy the minds of mankind, and fill up the narrow space of time allotted them here, when there is really but one concern that merits their whole attention, I am often astonished to find this alone so universally neglected, or affording so little pleasure when attended to. In the social circle, where friends meet for the pleasing interchanges of sympathetic intercourse, a being who knew the probationary state of mortality, but was unacquainted with the perversity of judgment that governs it, would conclude, that a subject of infinitely the greatest importance, and equally interesting to all, would mutually be chosen as a theme that must unavoidably awaken the affections, and convey pleasure to the bosom of every one: but experience evinces the contrary. Conviviality alone is sought in those meetings; or if conversation takes a more sober cast, secular concerns have their round of discussion; and when these are exhausted, public affairs are reverted to with as much engagedness-perhaps some general character, distinguished in the intrigues of politics, or on the theatre of war-his name, his abilities, or exploits, give ardour to the eye, and eloquence to the tongue of every one present. But venture

to mention the name of Jesus Christ, how suddenly the ardour vanishes, and eloquence sinks into silence. That tongue that just before had been earnestly trumpeting the fame of a fellow-creature, who had caused the ruin of thousands, or shed torrents of human blood, has not a single tribute of praise for him who went about doing good; who made the deaf to hear, the blind to see, the lame to leap as the hart, and called forth the dead from their silent graves; who gave himself a curse for us, and " in whose hand is the breath of life," the ordeal of death; in short, on whom we depend for every blessing both of the present and future world. Is there no room for eloquence here? Should not gratitude and admiration burst forth in soulbreathing acclamations of astonishment, love and joy? But no! evident uneasiness, and sometimes disgust unite to banish this name and its concurrent ideas from remembrance. But we find our judgments not thus preposterous in matters of less consequence. The man that would barter a kingdom for a bauble, to please his fancy, would be hooted by every one as the most egregious fool in existence; or he, who knowing he must quit his native for a foreign land, would make no preparation for his journey, neither seek a guide, or make any inquiry concerning the way, the place, or customs of the people, or how subsist when there, would be thought a most strangely stupid creature. And is not every being who knows the immeasurable disproportion between time and eternity, unspeakably more foolish and stupid to barter away the never-ending glories of the latter, for the transient pleasures or rusting wealth of the former? Not only the loss of eternal happiness is at stake, but alas! by that forfeiture, a portion of certain and endless misery

b

is incurred. That every one may devote much time and pains to obtain a knowledge of the way, and to making preparations for a removal to "that land from whose bourne no traveller returns," is the sincere wish of CHRISTINA,

ELEGY ON AN OAK.

WHEN rising morn her golden beam restor❜d,

And dawning sun-light ting'd the sable cloud,
While darkness fled, where gath'ring shadows crowd,
And the sweet lark beyond each vapour soar'd-
'Twas then I stray'd

Along a solitary path unstrew'd,
Where once an oak majestic stood,
In all the pomp of spring array'd.
But wither'd now-with moss o'ergrown,
I stood to view with pitying eye,
When soft I heard the plaintive moan

Of grief, that spoke the mourner nigh.
Still was the pure expanse, by gales unbroke,
And dewy flow'rets wept, while thus the Dryad spoke:
"Ye faithless zephyrs that were wont to stay,

"

"In playful sport,
"Enamour'd of my oak,

"Your lov'd resort;

"How oft your whispers spoke

"The lingering haste with which you woo'd delay, "While tepid Spring,

"With ventilating purple wing,

"Spread o'er each verdant branch her foliage gay: