YOUTH AND AGE.

JOB Vii. 16.

O YOUTH is like the spring-tide morn,
When roses bloom on Jordan's strand,
And far the turtle's voice is borne
Through all Judea's echoing land!
When the delighted wanderer roves
Through cedar woods, and olive groves,

fashionable audiences, that Mr Wolfe dedicated his labours, -In a miserable curacy in the province of Armagh he suffered nearly as great privations as a missionary in heathen lands, labouring with zeal, to which he fell an early victim, to promote in all things the spiritual and temporal welfare of the poor people of his extensive parish. In the year 1821, when the typhus fever made such ravages in Ireland, the fatigue which Mr Wolfe encountered in visiting the sick-a duty to which he was peculiarly devoted -and his zeal in administering both to the spiritual and temporal wants of his poor flock, considerably affected his health. His gradual decay became visible to his parishioners, and some of them made affectionate private representations to his friends, who tried to withdraw him from the laborious duties of his parish for the recovery of his health.

His character as a parish-priest will be contemplated with more delight than his genius as a poet, or eloquence as a preacher. It is thus delineated by a friend :-" As he passed by, all the poor people and children ran to the doors to welcome him with looks and expressions of the most ardent affection, and with all that wild devotion of gratitude so characteristic of the Irish peasantry. Many fell on their knees, invoking blessings on him, and making the most anxious inquiries about his health. He was

That spread their blossoms to the day;
And climbs the hill, and fords the stream,
And basks him in the noontide beam,
And cries, 'mid his delicious dream,
"O I would live alway!"

sensibly moved by this manifestation of feeling, and met it with all that heartiness of expression, and that affectionate simplicity of manner, which made him as much an object of love as his exalted virtues rendered him an object of respect. The intimate knowledge he seemed to have of all their domestic histories, appeared from the short but significant questions he put to each individual as he hurried along, while at the same time he gave a sketch of the particular characters of several who presented themselves, pointing with a sigh to one, and to another with looks of satisfaction and fond congratulations. It was indeed impossible to behold a scene like this, which, can scarcely be described without the deepest but most pleasing emotions. It seemed to realize the often-imagined picture of a primitive minister of the gospel of Christ living in the hearts of his flock, willing to spend and to be spent upon them, enjoying the happy interchange of mutual affection, and affording a pleasing proof that a faithful and firm discharge of duty, when accompanied by kindly sympathies and gracious manners, can scarcely fail to gain the hearts of the humble ranks of the people."

It was with extreme reluctance that Mr Wolfe, on the entreaty of his friends, left this poor and affectionate people to seek the restoration of his health in the south of France. He made a short recovery, but relapsed on his return to Ireland, and died in 1823, in the 32d year of his age, of deep consumption. What better blessing can be desired for Ireland, than that each of its parishes possessed a Charles Wolfe!

But Age is like the winter's night,

When Hermon wears his mantle-cloud,
When moon and stars withdraw their light,
And Hinnom's blast is long and loud;
When the dejected pilgrim strays
Along the desert's trackless maze,
Forsaken by each friendly ray;
And feels no vigour in his limb,
And finds no home on earth for him,
And cries, amid the shadows dim,
"I would not live alway."

O Youth is firmly bound to earth,

Where hope-beams on each mountain glance;
His bosom chords are tuned to mirth,
Like harp-strings in the cheerful dance:
But Age has felt those ties unbound,
Which fixed him to that spot of ground
Where all his household comforts lay;
He feels his freezing heart grow cold,
He thinks of kindred in the mould,
And cries, amid his griefs untold,
"I would not live alway."

KNOX.

*These specimens are taken from two small volumes of great merit, entitled "The Harp of Zion," and " Songs of Israel," by the late Mr WILLIAM KNOX.-We are disposed to think these volumes entitled to much more attention from the admirers of religious poetry-or, if we may use the phrase, the admirers of religion adorned by the fine arts than they have hitherto received.

The poets of Scotland have ever been singularly happy

DIRGE OF RACHEL.

GENESIS XXxv. 19.

AND Rachel lies in Ephrath's land,
Beneath her lonely oak of weeping;
With mouldering heart, and withering hand,
The sleep of death for ever sleeping.

in catching the true tone of the Hebrew lyrists. The homely quaintness, and antique simplicity of our ordinary version of the Psalms, are, even in this age of refinement, still found more acceptable to persons of taste, as well as among the religious, than those versified in a loftier diction, and arranged in more intricate metres.-They please, like some old national melody beautiful though irregular. The Scripture Paraphrases lately added to our metrical version of the Psalms possess the same charm. -They are the finest of the kind known in any literature, from their chaste simplicity and closeness to the original in language and in spirit. If the Scripture themes of Knox, which are all chosen with the sensibility of a true poet, fall short in the higher attributes which adorn those of Logan, and our other nameless paraphrasts, some of them have even a richer flush of fancy and feeling, and are encrusted with a more sparkling frost-work of poetic diction, which will render them still greater favourites with many readers.

Mr Knox was the son of a respectable farmer in Roxburghshire.-The latter part of his life was imbittered by that unsteadiness and uncertainty of pursuit in which a man without any fixed profession is but too apt to become involved, however great may be his talents, and which has too often a pernicious influence in unsettling the social habits of those who possess more facility of temper than decision and firmness of mind.-Knox was of this class-a

The spring comes smiling down the vale,
The lilies and the roses bringing;

But Rachel never more shall hail

The flowers that in the world are springing.

The Summer gives his radiant day,

And Jewish dames the dance are treading;
But Rachel on her couch of clay,
Sleeps all unheeded and unheeding.

The Autumn's ripening sunbeam shines,
And reapers to the field is calling;
But Rachel's voice no longer joins
The choral song at twilight's falling.

The Winter sends his drenching shower,
And sweeps his howling blast around her;

But earthly storms possess no power

To break the slumber that hath bound her.

KNOX.

A VIRTUOUS WOMAN.

PROVERBS Xii. 4.

THOU askest what hath changed my heart,
And where hath fled my youthful folly?

man of whose faults the best and worst thing that can be said is, That they injured no one so deeply as himself.His failings were those of habit-his virtues had a deeper root. He died in Edinburgh in 1825, after an illness of three days, at the age of thirty-six, affording yet another melancholy lesson of the inefficacy of mere genius to impart either happiness to life or grace or dignity to character.