There worn cave, where I still preserved her image before me in the character of my heroine. I quarrelled with, quitted her, fought for, became reconciled, and obtained her. This could not last. cannot be a heaven on earth—at least not long. I enjoyed it for a time with the exception of my visitor. It was too sweet to be prolonged. We left the country. * # My school busines and young ambition struck out new channels for my feelings.-Always ardent, I followed with avidity where they led. My compositions and translations were admired-I should be a translator and composer. I succeeded and was praised; praise and success ruined me. I thought I gained the summit when I only ascended a few steps. Ellen was neglected-not forgotten. My rivals in love became my competitors in literature, and I turned from one boundary to defend the other. Let no fastidious critic call this unnatural, I am the best judge of my own feelings. Το WITH COOMBE'S ELEMENTS OF PHRENOLOGY. I send-and in faith it is time I should send it- Perhaps, when you've studied this book, you may find What portion of my CEREBELLUM is wrong, And shew cause why a wretch who loves all womankind, Neglected the fairest of women so long. And, should it appear that some baser propensity Until your good nature—and you've an immensity- Phrenology must in this instance befriend me, Or else I'll shake hands with its doctrines and part, Unless from the charge of neglect it defend me, The head does not tell the contents of the heart. For, tho' much to believe in the system inclined, Το Dear ELLEN! nine months, since we parted, I saw, while ago, in the FREEMAN, In that case, once more I shall wander On sunset's soft beauties-and yours. I'll think how-when SHIEL was declaiming, I'll think of our cakes on the griddle, I'll think how I daily grew thinner As the time of our parting drew near; And how I drank grog at my dinner, When the "Forties" drank up all the beer. I'll think of Miss B 's-How the old one Would take up the cudgels for D-n, And, in her high flights, almost scold one Who would not be his partizan : How the young, pretty, pale one would linger I'll think of the Waterford genius, (But that secret sweet Ellen's between us) Tho' I felt I was better than them. I'll think of the beautiful faces Each window in Ennis displayed, As if all the loves and the graces Had there some high festival made: I'll think-pshaw, this thinking grows stupid- But soon, with the blessing of Cupid, ON THE DEATH OF MISS HELENA JANE T— The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing Scort. Thou art pass'd, like the bloom of a summer flower, Like the balmy breath of a vernal hour, Like a sweet tone drawn from the air-harp's strings, Like the spirit of Hope's imaginings; Oh! all that is loveliest to hear and to see Of graceful and beautiful pass like thee! Thou art gone, like a star from the silent night, All things brightest and purest pass. We knew thou wert leaving us, yet did we twine Our flower is gone when its bloom was newest, Our star in its first young splendour shaded, Yet 'tis but for a time And again we'll meet, In a happier clime Amid scenes more sweet; Where no flower ever dies, |