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When wearisome sickness has taught me to languish

For health, and the comfort it bears on its wing,

Let me hope-(Oh, how soon it would lessen my anguish!)

That to-morrow will ease and serenity bring.

When travelling alone, quite forlorn, uubefriended,

Sweet the hope that to-morrow my wand'r

ings will cease;

That at home, then, with care sympathetic attended,

I shall rest unmolested, and slumber in


Or when from the friends of my heart long


The fond expectation with joy how replete! That from far distant regions by Providence! guided,

To-morrow will see us most happily meet. When six days of labour each other succeeding, With hurry and toil bave my spirits opprest, What pleasure to think, as the last is receding, To-morrow will be a sweet Sabbath of rest! And when the vain shadows of life are retiring, When life is fast fleeting, and death is in sight,

The Christian believing, exulting, expiring,
Beholds a to-morrow of endless delight.
But th' Infidel then, surely, sees no to-morrow!
Yet he knows that his moments are hasting


Poor wretch! can he feel without heart-rending sorrow,

That his joys and his life will expire with today!


THE snows are dissolving on Torno's rude side, And the ice of Lulhea flows down the dark tide;

The stream that was frost-bound flows freely away,

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For dear is revenge to the soul of the brave; O'er his ashes the fierce Potomamac I bore,

And the snow drop unfolds her pale beauties And sprinkled the mantle of earth with his

to day.

Far off the keen terrors of winter retire,
And the North's dancing streamers relinquish

their fire;

The sun's genial heat swells the bud on the tree,

And the high hill re-echoes to Emma's wild glee.

The rein-deer, unharnessed in freedom shall play,

And safely o'er Odon's steep precipice stray;


Like a tiger, undaunted, he rush'd to the war, Like thunder he struck, and spread terror afar;

As the blossoms of love, or the spring of the


His name to the race of Maronoc is dear.

* Their greatest defeats being the result of stolen marches and ambushes, they look upon Death to be the offspring of Darkness.

Three scalps of the conquer'd to Podor* I burn,

At whose voice, from Ronama, † the spirits


A snake, black with venom, I cast in the flame,

And call on the shade of my father by name.
In his glory he comes, like a star in the skies!
He smiles and the omens of triumph arise!
He speaks-and the time of my wishes is near,
When the race of my foes shall in blood dis-

In the gloom of the forest securely they sleep;
But long ere the sun shall illumine the deep,
This hand, which the Spirits of Ruin shall

In a tem pest of slaughter shall scatter their pride.

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THE FALLING LEAF. SEE the leaves around us falling,

Dry and wither'd to the ground! Thus to thoughtless mortals calling, With a sad and solemn sound"Sons of Adam"-once in Eden

Blighted when like us you fell,
Hear the lecture we are reading,
'Tis alas the truth we tell.
Virgins! much, too much presuming,
In your boasted white and red,
View us late in beauty blooming,
Number'd now among the dead.
Griping Misers! nightly waking,

See the end of all your care,
Fled on wings of our own making,
We have left our owners bare.
Sons of Honour! fed on praises,
Flutt'ring high on fancied worth,
Lo! the fickle air that raises

Brings us down to parent earth.
Learned Sophs in systems jaded,
Who for new ones daily call,
Cease, at length by us persuaded,
Every leaf must have a fall.
Youths! tho' yet no losses grieve you,
Gay in health and manly grace,

Let not cloudless skies deceive you,
Summer gives to Autumn place.

* Podor the God of the Winds and Ruler of deceased Spirits.

+ Ronama, the Indian Paradise.

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May the kind genius of your natal morn

Continue ev'ry blessing you possess; May ev'ry virtue still your breast adorn; Friends still esteem,-a parent still caress.

Still in your circle innocently shine;

Still all your cheerful gaiety enjoy; Your modest nature may no art refine;

Your lov'd sincerity no guile destroy. The blooming rose that blushes on your cheek, The winning smile that sits triumphant there,

May they for ever their dominion keep,

And live unclouded by the gloom of care. May both our breasts with kindred feelings glow,

And may your heart each throb of mine repeat;

Then shall our days no competition know,

But in our efforts to make life more sweet.



On Friday night, October 7, a new Melodrama was produced, founded upon the same story as the Mysterious Bride of Mr. Skeffington, entitled the Forest of Hermanstadt.

This Melo-drama is altered and adapted to the English stage, from a piece of the same name, written by M. Caiguez, and first acted on the Continent in the year 1805. The fable is briefly as follows:

herself. She experiences a variety of adventures while thus situated, and particularly attracts the notice of Almaric, who already begins to dislike the haughty measures of Ulrica. In the mean time Zarolano, one of Elisara's escort (a nobleman aud friend of her father, the Bulgarian King), having escaped the fate of the Princess's other attendants, arrives, on his way to Hermanstadt, at the iam, recognizes his sovereign's daughter under her disguise, and having induced Oswald's

Almaric, Grand Duke of Transylvania, hav-confidant (Karle) to confess part of his master's ing heard much in praise of Elisara, daughter to the sovereign of Bulgaria, seuds Oswald, his confidential friend, to make proposals of marriage in his name.

Oswald has an accomplished but ambitious sister, named Ulrica, who has never been seen by Almaric. Oswald sends home the picture of his sister, instead of that of the Princess Elisara, to his master, who becomes enamoured of the portrait, and sends orders to his treacherous friend to hasten the marriage. Oswald concludes his negociation, and departs from Bulgaria with the Princess, but by a pretended rencontre with a banditti, he puts to death all those of Ensara's retinue who had seen her face (it having been the custom for ladies in Bulgaria to appear always veiled in public), || and leaving the Princess to the care of two ruffians in a ruined palace in the forest of Hermanstadt, he decks his sister with the royal ornaments and dress, and carries her towards the court, under the assumed title of Princess || of Bulgaria

The true Elisa a having succeeded in soften ing the bearts of her ferocious guards, and escaped from their menaces of murdering her, finds shelter in a little inn on the borders of the forest To this in the Duke Almaric brings Ubica, the pretended Princess, having met her in her progress towards his capital. || Oswald and Ulrica are dismayed at seeing their victim, and by their threats and artifices prerent the affrighted Princess from discovering

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villainy, he throws himself at Almarie's feet, and acc ses Oswald and Ulrica. His testimony is not at first believed, till two ruffiaus, who were employed to dispatch Elisara, are brought in support of it, and a diamond ornament, which Ulrica knows not the secret to unlock, is opened by El zara, which produces a concealed portrait of the real Princess. The conspirators are punished, and Almaric is anited to Elisara.

The rustic humour of the innkeeper Bazit, his wife Gertrude, and their man Andrew, forms the lighter part of the piece; Andrew supposing Elisara to be one of his own rank in life, makes love to her, and assists, innocently, in adding to the embarrassments she is perpetaally thrown into by the novelty of her disguised situation.

This fable, as we have before observed, was the foundation upon hich Mr. Skeffington constructed his Tragedy of the Mysterious Bride,-a piece which has been treated with an unusual degree of severity, and in which the Managers of Drury-Lane seem to concur, by not having the spirit to repeat it.

Mr Dibdin's new Meio-drama does credit to the dexterity and experience of its author. It abounds with the usual ingredients of a Melo-drama, mystery, and situation. The music was appropriate, and the performers were weil adapted in their respective parts. It was announced for repetition with unanimous approbation,

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