But why bite those lips? Why with hint
My fidelity question, unfair?
Yes-her red ruby lips did I print,

But her name-will I never declare.

Maid beloved! without thee, while alone
In this cot doom'd existence to bear,
Thro' each moment of absence I moan
With a grief-ask me not to declare.

Thus at length behold Hafiz, whose song
Has so frequently flow'd void of care,
Whirl'd by Love's tender passion along
With a force-ask me not to declare.

SONG

FROM MOLIERE.

SING then, sweet birds! the woods among;
Sing, warblers sing, nor cease your song!
But with the harmonious sound,

Awake alternate in these shades
Each echo, while the distant glades

The thrilling notes rebound:

Yet, did you feel like me the pangs of love,

No more your dulcet song would fill the vocal grove.

THE FOLLY OF ATHEISM.

AN ODE.

BY DR. DARWIN.

"I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

DULL Atheist! could a giddy dance
Of atoms lawless hurl'd,
Construct so wonderful, so wise,
So harmoniz'd a world?

Why do not Arabes driving sands,
The sport of every storm,
Fair freighted fleets, the child of chance,
Or gorgeous temples form?

Presumptuous wretch! thyself survey,

That lesser fabrick scan;

Tell me from whence th' immortal dust,
The god, the reptile man?

Where wast thou, when this populous earth,

From chaos burst its way,

When stars exulting sung the morn,

And hail'd the new-born day?

What, when the embryo speck of life,
The miniature of man,

Nurs'd in the womb, its slender form
To stretch and swell began?

Say, didst thou warp the fibre woof?
Or mould the sentient brain ?
Thy fingers stretch the living nerve?
Or fill the purple vein ?

Didst thou then bid the bounding heart
Its endless toil begin?

Or clothe in flesh the hardening bone, Or weave the silken skin?

Who bids the babe to catch the breeze,
Expand its panting breast;

And with impatient hands untaught,
The milky rill arrest?

Or who with unextinguish'd love
The mother's bosom warms,
Along the rugged paths of life

To bear it in her arms?

A God! a God! the wide earth shouts,
A God! the heavens reply;

He moulded in his palm the world,
And hung it in the sky.

1

Let us make man!-With beauty clad,
And health in every vein;

And reason thron'd upon his brow,
Stepp'd forth majestic man.

Around he turns his wond'ring eyes,
All Nature's works surveys;
Admires the earth! the skies! himself!
And tries his tongue in praise.

Ye hills and vales! ye meads and woods,
Bright sun, and glittering stars!
Fair creatures, tell me if you can,
From whence, and what I am * ?

What parent power, all great and good,
Do these around me own ;
Tell me, Creation, tell me how
T'adore the vast Unknown!

INSCRIPTION ON A HERMITAGE,

In the Centre of a Copse, intersected by irregular Walks, at Micclesfield Green, Herts, the Residence of Lord Edward Bentinck.

BY THE AUTHOR OF CALVARY.

HERE sleep, Ambition! be this cell thy tomb;→
Vanish, and give the calmer passions room.
Avaunt, vain world! this solitary grove
Nor fears thy malice, nor invites thy love.
And, though like thine its dark and winding maze
"Tangles our path, and for a while betrays,
Let patience guide, and, one short trial past,
Content fhall greet us in this spot at last.

According to the MS. copy.

SPEDLIN CASTLE*.

A BALLAD.

HEARD

EARD ye the shriek from yonder hill?
Heard ye the hollow roar?

Ah! never shall that shriek be still,
Within the Massy Moor.

Sir Porteous was a daring knight;
Jardine a baron bold;

Sir Porteous became his thrall in fight,
And was flung in prison-hold.

His ransom in gold was sent by sea,
And the day approached fast,
Which should set our knight at liberty—
But that day it prov'd his last.

One of the most noted apparitions is supposed to haunt SPEDLIN's castle, near Lochmaben, the ancient baronial residence of the JARDINES of Applegirth. It is said, that in exercise of his territorial jurisdiction, one of the ancient lairds had imprisoned, in the Massy More, or dungeon of the castle, a person named Porteous. Being called suddenly to Edinburgh, the laird discovered, as he entered the west port, that he had brought along with him the key of the dungeon. Struck with the utmost horror, he sent back his servant to relieve the prisoner, but it was too late. The wretched being was found lying upon the steps, descending from the door of the vault, starved to death. In the agonies of hunger he had gnawed the flesh from one of his arms. That his spectre should haunt the castle, was a natural consequence of such a tragedy." Minstrelsy, S. B, Vol. I. p. 79.

The dungeon of the castle.