From penury's severest, deadliest gripe.
Oh, it doth chill the eddying heart's-blood to see
The guileless cheek of infancy turn blue
With the keen cold.-Lo, where the baby hangs
On his wan parent's hand, his shivering skin
Half bare, and opening to the biting gale.
Poor shiverer, to his mother he upturns
A meaning look in silence! then he casts
Askance, upon the howling waste before,
A mournful glance upon the forward way-
But all lies dreary, and as cold as hope
In his forsaken breast.

THE WISH.

Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild, Where, far from cities, I may spend my days, And, by the beauties of the scene beguiled,

May pity man's pursuits, and shun his ways. While on the rock I mark the browsing goat,

List to the mountain-torrent's distant noise, Or the hoarse bittern's solitary note,

I shall not want the world's delusive joys; But with my little scrip, my book, my lyre,

Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more; And when, with time, shall wane the vital fire, I'll raise my pillow on the desert shore,

And lay me down to rest where the wild wave Shall make sweet music o'er my lonely grave.

THE FRUITLESS WISH.

I have a wish, and near my heart
That wish lies buried;

To keep it there's a foolish part,

For, oh! it must not be,

It must not, must not be.

Why, my fond heart, why beat'st thou so?
The dream is fair to see-

But bid the lovely flatterer go;

It must not, must not be,
Oh no, it must not be.

'Tis well this tear in secret falls,
This weakness suits not me;

I know where sterner duty calls:
It must not, cannot be
Oh! no, it cannot be.

THE BYZANTINE HERMIT.

While the seat of empire was yet at Byzantium, and that city was the centre, not only of dominion, but of learning and politeness, a certain hermit had fixed his residence in a cell, on the banks of the Athyras, at the distance of about ten miles from the capital. The spot was retired, although so near the great city, and was protected, as well by woods and precipices as by the awful reverence with which, at that time, all ranks beheld the character of a recluse. Indeed, the poor old man, who tenanted the little hollow at the summit of a crag, beneath which the Athyras rolls its impetuous torrent, was not famed for the severity of his penances, or the strictness of his mortifications. That he was either studious, or protracted his devotions to a late hour, was evident, for his lamp was often seen to stream through the

trees which shaded his dwelling, when accident called any of the peasants from their beds at unseasonable hours. Be this as it may, no miracles were imputed to him; the sick rarely came to petition for the benefit of his prayers, and, though some both loved him, and had good reason for loving him, yet many undervalued him for the want of that very austerity which the old man seemed most desirous to avoid.

It was evening, and the long shadows of the Thracian mountains were extending still farther and farther along the plains, when this old man was disturbed in his meditations by the approach of a stranger. 'How far is it to Byzantium?' was the question put by the traveller. Not far to those who know the country,' replied the hermit; but a stranger would not easily find his way through the windings of these woods, and the intricacies of the 'plains beyond them. Do you see that blue mist which stretches along the bounding line of the horizon as far as the trees will permit the eye to trace it? That is the Propontis: and higher up on the left, the city of Constantinople rears its proud head above the waters. But I would dissuade thee, stranger, from pursuing thy journey farther to-night. Thou mayest rest in the village, which is half way down the hill; or if thou wilt share my supper of roots, and put up with a bed of leaves, my cell is open to thee.'-'I thank thee, father,' replied the youth: I am weary with my journey, and will accept thy proffered hospitality.' They ascended the rock together. The hermit's cell was the work of nature. It penetrated far into the rock, and in the innermost recess was a little chapel, furnished with a crucifix and a human skull, the objects of the hermit's nightly and daily contempla

tion, for neither of them received his adoration. That corruption had not as yet crept into the Christian church. The hermit now lighted up a fire of dry sticks (for the nights are very piercing in the regions about the Hellespont and the Bosphorus,) and then proceeded to prepare a vegetable meal. While he was thus employed, his young guest surveyed, with surprise, the dwelling which he was to inhabit for the night. A cold rock-hole on the bleak summit of one of the Thracian hills seemed to him a comfortless choice for a weak and solitary old man. The rude materials of his scanty furniture still more surprised him. A table fixed to the ground, a wooden bench, an earthen lamp, a number of rolls of papyrus and vellum, and a heap of leaves in a corner, the hermit's bed, were all his stock. Is it possible,' at length he exclaimed, that you can tenant this comfortless cave, with these scanty accommodations, through choice? Go with me, old man, to Constantinople, and receive from me those conveniences which befit your years. ' And what art thou going to do at Constantinople, my young friend?' said the hermit, for thy dialect bespeaks thee a native of more southern regions. Am I mistaken-art thou not an Athenian? I am an Athenian,' replied the youth, ' by birth, but I hope not an Athenian in vice. I have left my degenerate birthplace in quest of happiness. I have learned from my master, Speusippus, a genuine asserter of the much belied doctrines of Epicurus, that as a future state is a mere phantom and vagary of the brain, it is the only true wisdom to enjoy life while we have it. But I have learned from him, also, that virtue alone is true enjoyment. I am resolved, therefore, to enjoy life, and that too with

virtue as my companion and guide. My travels are begun with the design of discovering where I can best unite both objects: enjoyment the most exquisite, with virtue the most perfect. You perhaps may have reached the latter, my good father; the former you have certainly missed. To-morrow I shall continue my search. At Constantinople, I shall laugh and sing with the gay, meditate with the sober, drink deeply of every unpolluted pleasure, and taste all the fountains of wisdom and philosophy. I have heard much of the accomplishments of the women of Byzantium. With us, females are mere household slaves; here, I am told, they have minds. I almost promise myself that I shall marry and settle at Constantinople, where the loves and graces seem alone to reside, and where even the women have minds. My good father, how the winds roar about this aerial nest of yours, and here you sit, during the long cold nights, all alone, cold and cheerless, when Constantinople is just at your feet, with all its joys, its comforts, and its elegancies. I perceive that the philosophers of our sect, who succeeded Epicurus, were right, when they taught that there might be virtue without enjoyment, and that virtue without enjoyment is not worth the having.' The face of the youth kindled with animation as he spake these words, and he visibly enjoyed the consciousness of superior intelligence. The old man sighed and was silent. As they ate their frugal supper, both parties seemed involved in deep thought. The young traveller was dreaming of the Byzantine women: his host seemed occupied with far different meditations. 6 So you are travelling to Constantinople in search of happiness?' at length exclaimed the hermit: I too have been a suitor of that divinity,