Such beauties, through each varying season last;
While every day seems sweeter than the past;
As slowly steals the silent foot of Time,
Unfaded still, they flourish in their prime.

When comes that hour, as come to all it must,
When mortal forms shall mingle with the dust;
Chill Winter past-the genial Spring's return,
Shall breathe new fervour on the slumbering urn;
Then, like the rose-bud's renovated form,
That blushing, triumphs o'er the Wintry storm,
Shall Beauty wake, too bright for mortal eye;
To bloom unfading, in a cloudless sky.

THE SHIPWRECK.

NOVEMBER'S breath, so damp and chill,

Had blighted Nature's lingering bloom, The mists that hovered on the hill,

Were veiled in midnight's deepest gloom;

The torrent rushed along the vale,

Pale meteors shot across the deep;

And echoing in the fitful gale,

Aerial forms were heard to weep;

When Mary marked the lagging hour,
That seemed to slumber on its way;

As seated in her lonely bower,

She mourned her William's long delay.

Ah me!' she cried, my troubled breast! How has it heaved, with Hope and Fear, My trembling hand since William pressed,

Since last he kissed the parting tear!

The woodbine round my lattice twined, Gave promise of the Spring's return, When William soothed my pensive mind, And pointing, bade me cease to mourn :

'Till Summer give these buds to blow, Said he, let Hope the hours beguile; Then teach your cheek with love to glow, And meet me with your softest smile!'

Each morn, I marked the green buds swell, And raptured, saw the blossom spread ; Alas! I languished as they fell

And

now, the sallow leaves are shed!

I hear them flutter in the blast,
And whirling round, in eddies play;
Ah me! they tell that Hope is past;
That Love has now no longer stay!

Where does my hapless William sleep?

Does loathsome weeds enshroud his form?

His requiem echoed o'er the deep,

By sea-birds screaming in the storm?

N

O would the blast that howls around,

But waft him on its wildest wave, Dear were the breaking billow's sound, That bade me share my William's grave!'

She heard the gathering tempest wake,
And marked the surge's maddening roar ;
Whose thundering echoes seemed to shake
The rocky base of Brothock's shore.

She trimmed her lamp with trembling hand,
And hung it in her window high,

To warn them from the treacherous land,

If chance, some weary bark was nigh.

A signal gun assailed her ear

Ah me! 'tis William's hapless doom!'

Another comes-it echoes near

The broad flash bursting through the gloom.

O'er craggy cliffs she frantic sprung,

And fearless, braved the dashing spray ;

A bark on mountain billows hung,

'Midst danger, darkness, and dismay !

Now plunging in th' abyss profound; Now tempest tossed to meet the sky; She strikes the rocks repeat the sound; The fatal breakers round her fly!

In vain they furl the tattered sail,

The rock has pierced her yawning side!

She yields to the resistless gale

Her fragments floating on the tide.

One dreadful shriek of wild despair,
Gives tenfold horror to the gloom;

The sheeted lightning's lurid glare
Bursts o'er the sufferer's briny tomb.

My Mary echoed o'er the tideThe thrilling accents reached her ear; Life's crimson current ceased to glide;

And horror froze the gushing tear !—