Reflected images are seen

Upon this transient stream of Time,
Through mists and shades that intervene,
Of things eternal and sublime.

Then let us rightly learn to know
These heavenly messengers of love :
They teach us whence true pleasures flow,
And win our thoughts to joys above.

And e'en when clouds roll o'er our head,
Still let us turn our longing eyes
To where Eternal Love has spread
The changeless azure of the skies.

PROPHETIC.

[Lines written on the window-glass of an Inn in England during the author's travels through Europe in 1774—5.

BY GULIAN VERPLANCK.

HAIL happy Britain, Freedom's blest retreat;
Great is thy power, thy wealth, thy glory great,
But wealth and power have no immortal day,
For all things ripen only to decay.

And when that time arrives, the lot of all,

When Britain's glory, power, and wealth shall fall;

Then shall thy sons by Fate's unchang'd decree

In other worlds another Britain see,

And what thou art, America shall be.

LINES

[Suggested by a Perusal of "The Life of Chatterton."]

BY A. L. BLAUVELT.

AND yet there are, who, borne on fortune's tide,
Down the smooth vale of time unconscious glide;
Ne'er dream of wretchedness when they repose,
Nor wake to other cares, to other woes.

And when the north wind rages through the sky,
Withhold from bleeding poverty a sigh;
Leave those to weep, who, torn from all held dear,
In want and silence shed the frequent tear;
Who, reared 'mid fortune's noon, ill brook the shade,
And feel with tenfold sense its damps invade;
Feel more than chilling frost neglects control,
And all the horrors of a wintry soul;
For ah; how oft from penury's cold grave,
Nor worth nor all the power of mind can save ?
Condemned through life a ceaseless war to wage
With all the pride and dulness of the age;
Still vain each wish o'erwhelm'd, each hope elate,
Oft Genius sinks desponding to her fate,
Or moves the indignant pensioner of pride,
Her triumphs blazon, nor her spoils divide;
And, wrapt in chilling gloom, ne'er feels the day,
Taught by her hand round happier wealth to play.
Ah, stern decree! that minds whom Heaven inspires
With more than angel thought, than angel fires;
Whose virtues vibrate to the tenderest tone,
And wake to wo ere half her woes be known;

From the high boon a sterner fate derive,

And suffer most, to suffering most alive.

THE MAGIC DRAUGHT.

[Addressed to a young Lady who gave him Seltzer water to drink.]

BY DR. S. L. MITCHELL.

BRISK sparkled the liquid, most lively and fine,
Transparent as amber, than crystal more pure,
Appearing those qualities rare to combine,
Adapted exactly his health to secure.

Pursuant to order, he drank in a trice,

Full confidence in his physician he placed; For who that is favour'd with lady's advice Can ever refuse their prescriptions to taste?

Unconscious what mischief within it might lurk,
He swallowed the doses again and again,
Till he fancied within him a manifold work,
Disturbing his heart and distracting his brain.

Suspecting, at last, from his feelings unus'd,

A trick on his faith had been wantonly play'd, "Some philter or potion" he swore "was infused, Some magic or poison instilled by the maid."

"Not this a Nepenthe the mind to compose,

Which Helen at Sparta employ'd in her feasts, But a draught such as Circe, the sorceress, chose, Transforming the drinkers to four-footed beasts."

"Not a worse composition did Shakspeare behold,
Prepared in their cauldron by witches obscene,
Nor were drugs more detested, as Hayley has told,
Commix'd by the fiends when they conjur'd up Spleen."

Thus railing and raving, awhile he went on,
Bethinking he soon must his testament make,
When lo! all the terrible symptoms were gone,
And his woful conjecture turn'd out a mistake.

No water from Seltzer the vessel contain❜d,

Nor has Pyrmont or Spa such a remedy known; For she candidly, since the prescription, explain'd, Prepar'd by a process entirely her own.

The tears which at church on Good Friday she shed,
After Easter was over, had fairly been dry'd,
But the 'kerchief on which she supported her head
Was laid with the precious effusion aside.

This 'kerchief, to bleech in the sunshine was plac'd,
And expos'd to the weather by night and by day;
With snow-flakes of April was often incas'd,

And moisten'd as often hy dew-drops of May.

In ether's high region, where thunders prevail,
Those drops by explosion's electric were form'd,
Had once in descending been frozen to hail,

And twice in the rainbow's refraction been warm'd.

Collecting these drops on their fall from above,
With myrtle's quintessence she tinctur'd the mass;
Then breath'd in the mixture the spirit of love,
And blessing, enclos'd it securely in glass.

This potent elixir, he plainly observes,

Of his head and his heart has pervaded the whole; Excites every fibre, and quickens the nerves,

With sweet agitation delighting the soul.

Yet he fears its effects on his temper and health
Will make him his toilsome exertions disclaim;
No more be devoted to projects of wealth,

Nor seek to be crown'd with the laurels of Fame.

Nay-an antidote sovereign he long has possess'd,
His affections from spells and enchantments to free ;
No foreign intruder can enter a breast,

Pre-occupied, heart winning Sh by thee.

[On Miss

IMPROMPTU.

-'s paying the tribute of a tear to a scene of distress.]

BY JACOB MORTON.-1790.

SOFT as the dews of evening skies

Which on the flow'ret's bosom fall,
Were those sweet tears in Anna's eyes
Which wak'd at pity's gentle call.

Ah! may that tender, feeling heart,
Where thus sweet sympathy doth glow,
Ne'er feel the pang of sorrow's dart,

Nor sigh-but for another's wo.