At every whiff, a gentle heat

Like that of Love within me glows:
Through thee my friends are doubly sweet,
I almost love my few of foes.-
If such thy virtues be, Cigar,

When other consolations fail,
If thou canst drive from man afar
Those sorrows that his heart assail;
If thou canst make the world appear
As in the glass of Claude Lorraine
Of loveliest hues-why then, 'tis clear

Thou better art than-Wright's Champagne!

WRITTEN ON A FINE MORNING.

"The morn is up, by heavens! a lovely morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing away the clouds."-BYRON.

ANOTHER Morn will rise

With splendour on its wings,
But this for ever flies

Away! While beauty flings

A thousand colours o'er

The earth, they reappear:

Yet thou wilt never more

Our hearts exulting cheer.

Sweet morn, on balmy gales

Where dost thou speed thy flight?

To worlds where Love prevails

And wantons with Delight;

Where ever-blooming Youth,

With Pleasure at his side,
And Innocence and Truth
In golden courts abide ?

Then, gentle morn, awhile

Thy odours let me breathe: Heaven seems above to smile, 'Tis Paradise beneath.

Flowers freshly gemm'd with dew In tears entreat thy stay;

And birds of every hue

Sing "Why so soon away ?"

The massy woods, whose deep
Green is illumed with gold,
Would fain the colours keep
Thy radiance doth unfold;

Thy rose-hues, lovely morn!
Yet linger on the lake;
Then why as soon as born

Wilt thou the world forsake?

STANZAS ON A FINE SUNDAY.

"Earth has not any thing to show more fair;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty."-WORDSWORTH.

I.

Ir is the sabbath of the Lord, awake
Ye who in darkness slumber! 'tis a day
Most beautiful; as if for Christ's dear sake

The sun pours forth a more resplendent ray,
And Nature wears a robe most richly gay;
The hinds now from their daily labour rest,

The cattle undisturbed keep holiday:

All men, save Mammon's wretched slaves, are blest, And cheerful looks reveal their feelings unexprest.

II.

The woods are sleeping in the sunlight now;
Thus in the "light of lights" confiding love
Reposes; smooth as crystal is the brow

Of the clear lake reflecting Heaven above.

Pure as the prayers that holiest saints approve, Stray children o'er the meads, collecting flowers, The best that may be into garlands wove, To crown each other's brows in greenwood bowers, Ere the church bells proclaim devotion's solemn hours.

III.

Fresh as on Hermon hill the morning dew,

Acceptable as incense that arose

From Aaron's altar, is the homage true

Of hearts to God. Prayer can our numerous woes Remove, and soothe the bosom's fiercest throes! Is there a place on earth that angels greet? Where persecuted Truth may find repose?

It is where congregated neighbours meet

To worship God with holy zeal and in communion sweet.

IV.

And well the sunbright day doth harmonise
With the pure gospel-light, that shines within
God's blessed church-most glorious are the skies;
Like souls that purified from mists of sin
To glow with truth's diffusive rays begin.
The sun to his meridian height ascends

As heavenward Christians strive their way to win ;
There shines the Triune Sun, there beauty blends
Hues that are faintly seen on earth-the Sabbath never
ends.