"Who could to you this skill impart,
Of which a queen might boast?
I knew but one who had the art,—
And she, alas ! is lost!"

Parental love and kingly pride
Were struggling in his breast;
He vainly tried the grief to hide,
Which would not be suppress'd.

A rich glow mantled Emma's cheek,
In nature's crimson dyed,
While to her sire, in accents meek,
She modestly replied;-

"I learned it in my father's hall;
And when he sat to dine,

Though luxury woo'd with tempting call,
No dish could please like mine."

In wonder lost, with heaving breast,

Sat mighty Charlemagne ;

He gazed, and cried, "Now, heaven be bless'd,

My Emma lives again!"

Her husband's hand she fondly took,

Before the King they kneeled;
He raised them with benignant look,
And thus their pardon sealed.

3

A father's fond forgiving kiss

Their every fear beguiled;

And they have left the Bower of Bliss, Where love so long had smiled.

Though Fortune now had fixed their lot To move in courtly sphere,

Yet, sacred still they held the spot,

To hallowed love so dear.

With grateful hearts, and pious zeal,
They raise a Chapel there;

And both before the altar kneel,
With praise and humble prayer.

Their songs of praise for mercies given,
Were heard at early morn;

Their humble prayers arose to Heaven, By listening seraphs borne.

Within the forest dark and deep,

The Chapel still is seen;

And there the faithful lovers sleep,

In solitude serene.

THE FLITTING.

The stream that laved my infant feet,-the mead
On which I filled my lap with vernal flowers,-
The woodland lay soft warbled to the morn,
That charm'd the ear, and chased my every care;
No song so sweet, no flowers so fair, no stream
Holds such a crystal mirror to the sky.

OLD PLAY.

It

LOCAL attachment seems to have an almost universal influence on human nature; for it may rationally be inferred, that the exceptions which we observe are often rather apparent than real; or, if they do sometimes exist, they may be considered as deviations from a generally pervading principle, like some phenomena, which happen contrary to the established laws of Nature. will readily be granted, that this feeling operates most powerfully on delicate and susceptible minds; and has, accordingly, furnished a theme for poets, from Homer down to the present day, forming the subject of many a tender lay and melting effusion. In the Iliad, we admire the imagination, and are delighted with the descriptive powers of the poet; but the Odyssey reaches the heart, and, forgetting the poet, we think

only of Ulysses and his home. Among the poets of our own times, this feeling has furnished the basis of some tender strains, which, we may almost predict, will only die with the language in which they are written; for instance, Campbell, Rogers, Montgomery, and Erskine in his Emigrant. But among our modern poets, none seems to have felt the influence of this principle more powerfully, nor to have expressed it with greater sensibility, than Goldsmith. It forms the groundwork of his "Deserted Village," and is often powerfully expressed in his "Traveller :" and, although it has been found that there is often a great difference between an author's head and his heart, it would be a calumny on human nature not to believe, ay, and be convinced, that the author of the following lines felt what he wrote:

"In all my wanderings round this world of care:
In all my griefs, and God has given my share;
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down :
And, as a hare, when hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,

Here to return, and die at home at last!"

An apology might seem necessary for quoting lines so generally known, and, I hope, felt; but, as the eye can turn again and again to look on a fine painting, and the ear listen with delight to the repetition of an ex

quisite air; so, it is presumed there are few readers who will be displeased with again perusing this recital of these feelings, with such genuine simple pathos; for all who possess, or lay a claim to sensibility, will own they speak to the heart.

Even our school copy of Cæsar or Horace, the wild heath where we rambled, the lake where we bathed or skated, all afford an undefinable pleasure in our after years; and the longer time that has intervened, perhaps that pleasure is relished the more keenly: should the heath be turned into corn-fields, and the lake drained, our reason may be convinced that the general good is promoted, but still we deplore the altered features of the scene. I shall conclude these desultory observations with a simple tale of rural life, illustrative of what has been advanced.

The village of Burnside consisted of about a score of houses, irregularly scattered over an extent of something more than half a mile in length; to each of which was attached from eight to ten acres of land, all rented from the laird: the tenants were, in general, tradesmen of various occupations, which they exercised in the intervals of their rural labours, raising their families healthful and happy. As its name implied, the houses were situate on the bank of a rivulet, which, in a dry summer, almost forgot to murmur; although at the Lammas speat, or in sudden thaws in winter, it was