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A MAGNIFYING GLASS.

AUXILIARY of th' imperfect sight,

I long your boasted powers to try; Will you impart a purer light,

Or keener vision to the eye?

Your magnifying powers I scorn!

'Tis thus that Hope has long deceived;

I seized her glass in life's gay morn,

Gazed, sighed, admired-and still believed.

Delusive glass! whose magic powers
In long succession, bade me view

Rich fields of never-fading flowers,

And summer skies of cloudless blue:

Health seemed to float on every gale;

And faithful Friendship stretched her arms; Arcadian sweetness graced the vale,

Where Beauty blushed in nameless charms:

I languished 'till the hour should come,
When I might all these pleasures prove;
But chief, my heart had fixed its home,
Its seat of bliss, in mutual love.

That hour approached-is passed away,

I feel it can return no more!
Dark clouds obscure life's waning day,
And boding storms at distance roar.

Auxiliary of the imperfect sight,

Still would I court your specious aid; Could you dispel the meteor light,

By which my heart has been betrayed.

Should Hope again succeed the gloom,
Assist me all the scene to trace ;
Teach how to prize each varied bloom,

And strip each form of fancied grace,

The cheerless objects floating near,

Are those the coward heart would shun;

Enlarge them not-I feel, that Fear

Already has the work begun.

Dispel the fogs, whose deep'ning shade
Gives every care a giant's form;

Let Reason's beams the scene pervade,

And teach me how to meet the storm.

Auxiliary of the imperfect sight,

Could you such potent aid impart, The eve of life, with gentle light,

Might haply, soothe a wounded heart.

TO A LADY,

Who presented the Author with a Patent Silver Pen.

A TOKEN of Friendship, a mark of esteem,
Whatever its nature, its purpose, or name,
Will light the dull eye, with a soft lambent gleam,
And fan the cold heart for a moment to flame;

But chilled must that heart be, as ice round the pole ;
And the visionless orb must be dark as the tomb,
When your gift C, inspires not the soul,
Where it bears not a spell, that can brighten the gloom.

"Tis a delicate boon, and unique of its kind,

Which graces the donor, and compliments me;

To the treasures deep hid in the store-house of mind,
To the heart's best affections we find it a key:

'Tis the magical wand, that when wielded aright, Proves a shield to the weak, and a sword to the strong; O'er regions deep buried in darkness and night,

Sheds the noon-day of Science, the radiance of Song:

'Tis a talisman, framed with such cunning and skill, Its powers so prolific, so potent its charms,

It prompts every passion, it governs the will;

Wipes the cold cheek of grief; and sets nations in arms.

CECILIA'S light fingers, when carelessly flung

O'er the chords of her lyre, called forth raptures divine; A bumpkin, whose ears in fond ecstacy hung,

Exclaimed, O ye Gods, were that lyre only mine!'

His prayer reached the skies-the loved lyre was his own;
He hugged it in transport, again and again—
Struck the strings o'er and o'er, but the music was flown ;
He fingered and fretted-but all was in vain!

And such is the present your hand has bestowed;
(This doggerel will plainly my simile prove,)
Had you sent it to MOORE, then each line would have glowed,
With the witchery of sentiment, feeling, and love.

P