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Nor only these thy presence woo,
The less inspired own thee too!
Thou hast thy tranquil source
In the deep well-springs of the human heart,
And gushest with sweet force
When most imprison'd; causing tears to start
In the worn citizen's o’erwearied eye,
As, with a sigh,
At the bright close of some rare holiday,
He sees the branches wave, the waters play-
And hears the clock's far distant mellow chime
Warn him a busier world reclaims his time!

Thee, childhood's heart confesses-when he sees The heavy rose-bud crimson in the breeze, When the red coral wins his eager gaze, Or the warm sunbeam dazzles with its rays. Thee, through his varied hours of rapid joy, The eager BoyWho wild across the grassy meadow springs, And still with sparkling eyes Pursues the uncertain prize, Lured by the velvet glory of its wings!

And so from youth to age-yea, till the end An unforsaking, unforgetting friend, Thou hoverest round us! And when all is o'er, And earth's most loved illusions please no more, Thou stealest gently to the couch of Death; There, while the lagging breath Comes faint and fitfully, to usher nigh Consoling visions from thy native sky, Making it sweet to die! The sick man's ears are faint-his eyes are dimBut his heart listens to the heavenward hymn, And his soul sees—in lieu of that sad band, Who come with mournful tread To kneel about his bedGoils white-robed angels, who around him stand, And wave his spirit to “ the Better Land!”

This unfortunate victim of calumny, whose name is still associated with our most tender and mournful recollections, was born in February, 1806, and was eldest daughter of Francis, late Marquis of Hastings, and Flora, Countess of Loudon in her own right. Thus highly distinguished by a birth which connected her with the ancient royal family of Scotland, and that of the present dynasty of Great Britain, she was also endowed with beauty, talents, and amiable manners, so as to be the delight of her own domestic and social cirele, and an ornament of elevated society. She received the appointment of Lady of the Bedchamber to the Duchess of Kent; and while in this office, the disease of which she ultimately died (an enlargement of the liver) excited those injurious whispers which led to results that are still fresh in the memory of the public. She died at Buckingham Palace on the 5th of July, 1839, and was interred in the family fault at Loudon, Ayrshire.

Lady Flora had for several years been requested by her friends to publish her poems: but this she steadfastly refused, from her delicate aversion to public notice. Just previous to her death, however, she had collected them for publica. tion, “ with the view," as she expressed it, “ of dedicating whatever profits might be derived from them to the service of God, in the parish where her mother's family have long resided.” During the present year they have been published by her sister, and their excellence is such as to deepen our regret for the loss which has been sustained by her untimely death, as well as to increase our indignation for the causes that occasioned it.


Grieve not that I die young.–Is it not well
To pass away ere life hath lost its brightness ?
Bind me no longer, sisters, with the spell
Of love and your kind words. List ye to me:
Here I am bless'd- but I would be more free;
I would go forth in all my spirit's lightness.

Let me depart!
Ah! who would linger till bright eyes grow dim,
Kind voices mute, and faithful bosoms cold?
Till carking care, and coil, and anguish grim,
Cast their dark shadows o'er this faëry world;
Till fancy's many-colour'd wings are furlid,
And all, save the proud spirit, waxeth old?

I would depart!

Thus would I pass away-yielding my soul
A joyous thank-offering to Him who gave
That soul to be, those starry orbs to roll.
Thus-thus exultingly would I depart,
Song on my lips, ecstacy in my heart.
Sisters-sweet sisters, bear me to my grave--

Let me depart!


We have breasted the surge, we have furrow'd the wave,
We have spread the white sail to the favouring breeze;
We have sped from the land of the fair and the brave,
Widely to wander o'er untried seas.
There is hope in our hearts, there is joy on our brow,
For the bright cross is beaming before us now!
Sadly we swept through the sounding deep,
Sadly we thought of our distant home-
Of the land where our fathers' ashes sleep,
Of the land where our fairy children roam.
Brothers! our sad tears must cease to flow,
For the bright cross is beaming before us now!
Spread we the sail to the winged wind-
Hail to the waves of the southern sea!
Deep is the furrow we leave behind,
As we dash through the waters merrily;


round our lofty prow, For the bright cross is beaming before us now!

And snowy

Cross of the south, in the deep blue heaven-
Herald of mercy, thy form hath shone!
Gladly we welcome the presage given
The land, the fair land of the south is our own;
Ind mildly the light of true faith shall glow,
For the bright cross is beaming before us now!


When first I met thee, on thy brow
The light of fancy play'd,
And brightly beam'd the eyes which now
Those downcast lashes shade.
Thou mov’dst an airy form of light,
A thing almost divine;
I might not dim thy fortunes bright
By love so sad as mine.

For I had seen the dreams depart
Which once illusion shed;
Had known the chillness of the heart
When youth's gay charm is fled.
Thou wert so bless'd, thou could'st not share
The darkness of my doom;
Thou wert a flower too sweet, too rare,
To cheer the desert's gloom.
But years are past, and thou hast known
Youth's noon-dreams fade away;
The light of cloudless mirth is flown,
And rapture's fleeting ray.
Chasten'd and calm the hope appears
That gilds thy placid brow;
Sweet sister! in this vale of tears,
I dare to love thee now.



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