Oaken temples, cypress towers,
Woodland walks, and woodbine bowers,
Or seek muse-haunted solitudes,
Or penetrate the sombre woods,
Where the thick foliage of the spray
Makes twilight at the noon of day,
And philosophic wisdom pores

O'er the rich page of learning's treasured stores.
And how I love, O Evening!
The influence of thy balmy wing,
Which the revolving mind invites
To taste reflection's pure delights;
While glowing in thy sunset pride,
Walk Peace and Beauty side by side,
And o'er the earth, with looks benign,
Diffuse their influence divine;

And Nature seems, while calmly beaming,
Like one that's rapt in heavenly dreaming,
Or tranced in some extatic spell,

That's felt, but is ineffable,

Or but in her bright looks defined,
As in the aspect is the mind.
"Tis now I hear, delighted, oft

The melting music, dying soft,

Of blessed Devotion's vesper hymn,

Sweet as the fancied strains of heaven-born seraphim.

O Summer! sun-crowned goddess, deign

To hear a Dryad's votive strain,

Entranced with thy elysian reign,

Who ever loves, with raptured sight,

To view thy rosy flood of light

Gush o'er the heaven, and stream o'er earth,

And give to ripe perfection birth;

While round thy gentle influence throws

A deep and seeming blest repose;
All nature, to the simplest flower,

Owns thy consummating power;
Wild flows, the echoing space along,
The sweetly-thrilling soul of song;
In ravished strains the minstrel pays
The earliest tribute of his praise,
Forgetting, midst thy matchless charms,
Life's heart-oppressing cares and vain alarms.
June 15th.

TO

PROSPERO.

In answer to the following passage in her letter to the Author-"I wish you would take a trip to, though no doubt you would find it very dull compared with London."

BENEATH Italia's cloudless sky,
Amid her scenes enchanting,

Why does the northern wanderer sigh ?—
What dream his heart is haunting?
Why, when her sunny vales with song
At even-tide are sounding,
Shuns he the happy village throng,
Glad o'er the green sod bounding?—
It is, that Nature can impart,

However bright her seeming,
No joy to him whose lonely heart
Unfriended there is dreaming.
The sun may shine, and all appear
In loveliness before him,

But thoughts of those he holds so dear
Fling grief's dark shadow o'er him.
And though around his native home
The storm is wildly raging-
Though o'er it ocean flings her foam,
And with it war seems waging-
His friend, his heart's beloved one,
Endear that wild spot to him;

Their smiles to him surpass that sun,
And all the joys that woo him.
Believe me, then, where'er thou art,
Kindhearted, frank, and tender,
None can regret the gloomy mart
Alike of woe and splendour !
The dullest spot where thy dear smile
Sheds life and bliss about thee,'
The heart from care could sooner wile
Than brightest scenes without thee.
'It may be, if to thee and thine,

Deal girl! I were a stranger,
The wish would never have been mine
There to be found a ranger:
But, as the natal place of those

I've found of friends sincerest-
And who, while life within me glows,
Will be esteemed the dearest-

It is a hallowed spot to me ;

And all I've heard thee praising
With deepest interest fraught would be,
And dreams of bliss be raising.
Deem not unblest I could reside
Where thou hast tasted gladness;
Or view thee smiling at my side,
Yet feel the spell of sadness.

And even if the cloud of care

Should cast its darkness o'er me,
The light thine eyes would scatter there
Would chase it from before me.

But what avails it thus to tell

Of what would fill joy's measure, Since Fate now bids me sigh-farewell! And blights my fancied pleasure.

G. J. DE WILDE.

THIS well known town is situated on the straits of the same name, in the county of Kent, at the distance of 72 miles from the metropolis. Three long streets, converging to a point, constitute the principal portion of it. The upper part is denominated the town, the lower, the pier. It has now only two parish churches, though it formerly had seven; but it has also places of worship for Methodists, Baptists and Quakers. It has likewise an hospital, a free school, and a charity school. The harbour, which is defended by strong batteries, can receive vessels of 400 or 500 tons; and as this is the port where the majority of travellers embark for France, nearly thirty packets are kept constantly employed for conveying them. Dover is one of the Cinque Ports, and returns two members. to Parliament, who are chosen by about sixteen hundred voters, out of a population of nearly eleven thousand persons. On the summit of the hill, to the north-eastward, stands the castle, an engraving and description of which will be given in the Pocket Magazine for November.

RECOLLECTIONS IN IRELAND.

Friendless thy heart, and can'st thou harbour there A wish but death, a passion but despair?—Campbell. THE night was dark, and the half-shrouded moon lent but a feeble ray to guide the uncertain footsteps of Fitzarden, as he reluctantly turned from the gate of that mansion, under whose roof he had been once a welcome guest, and passed many an hour cheared by the endearing smiles of love and friendship. As its turrets disappeared from his view, and became lost in the mists of distance, the last hope which his heart had cherished seemed wrested from his bosom for ever; there he had bidden farewell to her whose smile could have chased away the sombre clouds of sorrow, which long had darkened his existence. But now, an unwilling exile, he had only to endeavour to bury the past in eternal oblivion, and by a hasty flight to escape the vengeance that awaited his remaining in his native country.

Misled by mistaken enthusiasm, and the vain hope of alleviating the sufferings of that country, he had transgressed her laws; the hallowed spark of patriotism had blazed too fiercely into the unholy flame of rebellion, and the heart which had once beat only with the most pure and loyal designs, stung by injuries, goaded by oppression, and maddened by disappointment, had at length become the residence of hopeless, reckless, and unthinking desperation. He tried, he wished, to forget, but memory with her scorpion sting of bitter recollection, still pressed upon his heart her heavy weight of sorrow; she recalled in long perspective the fond hopes of his youth, the early associations of his childhood; she pictured the endearments of a mother, now no more; of a father, who had looked on him with delight as