Death.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;

To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot:
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprisoned in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howling-'tis too horrible!

The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise

To what we fear of death.

Shakspeare.

Nothing can come of nothing.

THERE was an old woman called 'Nothing-at-all,'
Who rejoiced in a dwelling exceedingly small;
A man stretched his mouth to its utmost extent,
And down at one gulp house and old woman went.

Gammer Gurton.

Memento morí.

ATTAMEN hinc ruere, et cæcis incurrere fatis,
Mors ubi mundanam clauserit ista diem:
Hoc calidum torpere, amittere sensile sensum;
Nec vim materiæ nec superesse decus:
Divinam residere animam flammantibus undis,
Ignea qua cruciat pestis, et atra sitis;
Aut arces inter septam morere nivales,
Qua durata jacent arva perenne gelu;
Sive rapi ventis telluris moenia circum,
Vincula perpessam carceris aërii ;

Agmina seu miserorum inter sine fine vagari,

Per vacuas cœli jussa ululare vias:

Horribile est!-Salvete, humani vos mala mundi

Pessima, pauperies, vincla, senecta, labor!

Morte procul, mortisque metu, vos pignora adeste, Vos comites vitæ, sit modo vita, meæ.

W. J. L.

Ex nihilo nil fit.

QUÆ Nihili-omnino' gaudebat nomine, tectis
Læta perexiguis se recreabat Anus:

Stabat hiulca Gigas expandens ora, domumque

Ah! simul et miseram contumulabat Anum.

F. H.

Caroline.

I'LL bid the hyacinth to blow,
I'll teach my grotto green to be,
And sing my true love all below

The holly bower and myrtle-tree.

There all his wild-wood sweets to bring,
The sweet South Wind shall wander by,
And with the music of his wing

Delight my rustling canopy.

Come to my close and clust'ring bower,
Thou Spirit of a milder clime,

Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower,
And mountain heath and moory thyme :

With all thy rural echoes come,

Sweet comrade of the rosy Day;
Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,
And cuckoo's plaintive roundelay.

Where'er thy morning breath has played,
Whatever isles of Ocean fanned,

Come to my blossom-woven shade,

Thou wandering Wind of fairy land.

For sure from some enchanted isle,

Where Heaven and Love their sabbath hold,

Where pure and happy spirits smile,

Of beauty's fairest brightest mould;

Carolina.

FRAGRARE in pratis hyacinthina serta jubebo;
Instituam quernis antra virere comis:

Quaque tumens certat cum sacra laurea myrto,
Qua peream flamma, motus amore, canam.

Illic delicias silvarum et frigora carpens

Felicem Zephyrus pervolitabit humum;
Cujus in amplexu et sub dulce sonantibus alis
Secessus læti pensilis umbra tremet.

Ad mea saxa veni, et crinitum frondibus antrum,
Spiritus, Idaliis almior orte rosis;

Ferque simul floresque novos et roscida mella,
Et cum montano ture palustre thymum.

Concentu nemorum pleno, campique susurris,
Adsis, O roseum concomitate diem;
Ad mea saxa veni, mosta cum voce cuculli,
Prodat et agrestem quod leve murmur apem.

Qua matutino spirasti cunque volatu;

Quascunque Oceani luseris inter aquas;
Nunc mecum intexta requiescas floribus umbra,
Immemor Elysii, mobilis Aura, tui.

Quippe ego crediderim fusos te nectare fontes,
Et magici lucos deseruisse soli;

Puræ ubi sunt animæ, et Veneris pulcerrima proles,
Et cum cœlicolis sabbata condit Amor.

From some green Eden of the deep,
Where Pleasure's sigh alone is heaved,
Where tears of rapture lovers weep,

Endeared, undoubting, undeceived;

From some sweet Paradise afar
Thy music wanders, distant, lost;
Where Nature lights her leading star,
And love is never, never crossed.

Oh gentle gale of Eden bowers,
If back thy rosy feet should roam,
To revel with the cloudless Hours
In Nature's more propitious home;

Name to thy loved Elysian groves,
That o'er enchanted spirits twine,
A fairer form than Cherub loves,
And let that name be Caroline!

Campbell.

The Trabelled Puss.

Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?' I've been to London to see the Queen.' 'Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there?' 'I frightened a little mouse under the chair.'

Gammer Gurton.