He spurn'd the charms that pleasure brings—
His thoughts were not on earthly things;
But, often, in the dead of night,
Beneath the pale moon's gentle light,
He wander'd forth, unseen-alone-
And sought my mother's burial stone:
Where he would sit him down and sigh,
Whilst tears were trembling in his eye;
And there, in silent grief, would weep
Till daylight's dawn began to peep.

"But once-I ne'er shall wipe away
Remembrance of that bitter day-
At morn, my father was not found;
Alarm'd, I sought the burial ground,
And there he sat, beside the tomb,
Methought, in more than usual gloom;
His head reclin'd against the stone,
Where the green moss had thickly grown :
I bade him leave the dreary spot,

But knew not why he heeded not.

I thought 'twas but a thought-he stirr'd; His lips responded not a word;

Nor was it till I mov'd his head,

I found, alas! that he was dead!

"And now my parents both were gone, I felt myself forlorn-alone.

I had not now a friend on earth,
A relative, by blood or birth;
And not one single hour of joy
Was destin'd for the orphan boy.

"At length I found a friend indeed,
A friend in misery and need-
Who heard my tale with tearful eye,
And seem'd to share my misery.
Kindly, she bade me think no more
On sorrows pass'd in days of yore,
But join in boyhood's sports again,
To banish all my inward pain;

And so, 'midst sports and pleasures gay
I pass'd my tedious hours away.
Then, if perchance she heard me sigh,
She rous'd me with her minstrelsy,
And sung a gay and lively air;

Though sweet, it could not ease my care.

"She told me that the change of scene Would make my miseries less keen ; Or drive away the demon thought; Or bring the peace of mind I sought. And so I left her for a time, To wander in a foreign clime; 'Twas summer, at the close of day, The sun had shed its parting ray On earth; the ev'ning star was bright, Sweet harbinger of coming night; With tearful eye, and loit'ring pace, I left my humble dwelling-place, And bade adieu, for one long year, To her alone I deem'd sincere.

My exile o'er, from foreign strand I sought again my native land; My peaceful home was soon in sight; But who can paint the true delight I felt--as then, in joy elate,

I stood beside the cottage gate?

But when the well-known menials came,
To hail their master back again,

I knew not why I did not see
One single look of ecstacy;

Nor why the face of each was sad,

I thought would smile in welcome glad.
The house seem'd sorrowful and still,
Mine anguish'd heart forboded ill.
I ask'd them "Why this weeping eye,
This sable garb of misery?”
They told me, with look of woe,
The all my heart had fear'd to know.

Speechless, with quick and hurried tread,
I sought the chamber of the dead;

And there she lay, a blighted flow'r,
That droop'd and wither'd in an hour;
Wrapt in the foldings of her shroud,
So calm, so still. I wept aloud
Her thin and wasted form to see;
Yet breath'd a pray'r on bended knee,
That she might share her Maker's love,
And dwell in happier climes above.

"Then tell me to check the sigh,
Or wipe mine ever-mbisten'd eye,
That weeps for her untimely fate,
Since I again am desolate.
Oh! no, each feeling is of grief,

And nothing e'er will bring relief."

FREDERICK DARLINGTON.

TO CERTAIN BEAUTIES OF SARUM.

"With grateful but desponding heart,
This farewell I indite;

To you, ye fair, whose witching charms
Bade us our 'Hora' write."

I'll sing, alas! farewell again,
Will breathe one more adieu;

And though that singing be in vain,
The song shall be to you.

For now, indeed, I must confess
The bliss which others see,

And own, the joys which others bless
Have shone alike on me.

The blessings which we soon shall miss
Are always doubly sweet ;
And trebly dear is parting bliss,
Lost pleasure most complete.

Believe me, we are wont to waste
Kind fortune's present store,
We lose it—and we long to taste
The sweets unseen before.

For present mercies, discontent
Is all we oft repay;

And still we murmur, still lament,
When they are torn away.

So now that I am leaving you,
I feel that parting grieve;
I learn to see your merit due,
Your value now perceive.

And thou, the first as fairest light
Before my wand'ring way,
The beacon of my roving sight,
The prompter of my lay:

The hand that trac'd this humble line,
Fair girl! thou canst not tell;
But, oh! the image there is thine,
To thee is this farewell.

I go but I have nought to pray,
I will make no request,
Save this that each succeeding day
Thou may'st be doubly blest.

But there is one I would address,
Whom once more I would see,
To tell how greatly she would bless
With one more look on me.

But no! I dare not breathe the pray'r,
Nor tempt the cold reply,

For she would answer me "Despair,"
And would my boon deny.

But peace with these reflections now,
Ye vain laments, away!

For I would smooth my ruffled brow-
Would fain be light and gay.

For though ye cannot be forgot,
Who are so passing fair;

Though I must seek a distant spot,

I'll hope for beauty there.

Not that all coxcombs follies strike,
And draw our ridicule alike,

That, smitten with his face and shape,
By dress distinguishes the ape;

T'other with learning crams the shelf,

Knows books and all things but-himself. GAY.

Of the various characters that engross our attention in our journey through life, there are perhaps few that are rendered so conspicuous on account of their absurdities as the Coxcomb. No one is more ridiculed, no one is more despised.. But there are different denominations of coxcombs. There are coxcombs in dress-coxcombs