Brilliants. INSCRIPTION FOR A WATCH. Could but our tempers move like this machine, FOUNTAIN OF THE FAIRIES. There is a fountain in the forest call'd And bask them in the sunshine. Many a time Hath the woodman shown his boy where the dark round And made it holy and the villagers Would say that never evil thing approach'd Unpunish'd there. The strange and fearful pleasure That fill'd me by that solitary spring, Ceased not in riper years; and now it woke Deeper delight, and more mysterious awe. SORROW. The sorrows which the soul endures, Not self-inflicted, are but hooded joys, SOUTHEY. That when she touches the white strand of heaven, They cluster round her and slip off their robes, And laugh out angels in the world of light. J. STANYAN BIGG. A SONG. The following song by Mr. SILLERY is extremely elegant, and worthy of a place in a collection of poetry. It is what it professes to be, and it aims at nothing more, and that is a very great merit. SHE died in beauty!—like a rose She died in beauty!-like the song She died in beauty!-like the snow She lives in glory!-like Night's gems THE GIPSY'S MALISON. 66 A very strange sonnet by CHARLES LAMB, published in Blackwood's Magazine. In his letters he speaks of it as curiously and perversely elaborate." It is certainly a curiosity in its way. But it contains some very fine poetry. SUCK, baby suck! mother's love grows by giving, Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting; Black manhood comes, when riotous guilty living Hands thee the cup that shall be death in tasting. Kiss, baby kiss; mother's lips shine by kisses, Choke the warm blood that else would fell in blessings; Black manhood comes, when turbulent guilty blisses Tend thee the kiss that poisons 'mid caressings. Hang, baby hang! mother's love loves such forces, Strain the fond neck that bends still to thy clinging; Black manhood comes, when violent lawless courses Leave thee a spectacle in rude air swinging. So sang a withered beldam energetical, And bang'd the ungiving door with lips prophetical. VOL. V. 2 A 82 GATHERING DEW. A ROUNDEL FOR MAY. In a volume of CALDER CAMPBELL's Poems we have found a very lively lyric which cannot fail to please the reader. Some faults it has, but then it has no pretensions which it does not sustain; it professes to be nothing beyond a sprightly sketch. MAY dew! May dew!-The fairies brew And the drops, with their breaths have breathed upon, To fix bright beauty on its throne! Oh! the ladye looks well in her simple vest, When the girdle of gold clips her heaving breast, When the costly gems of her proud tiar Sparkle, more bright than the brightest star,- When she fares forth to list to the woodland quire, Gathering dew! May dew! May dew!-The fairies strew That lends to the cheek a richer glow, Where the foe of my house and the bane of my blood, Gathering dew." May dew! May dew!-A moon for you, And every morn of the month of May, Tended by one who loved her well! The Baron was lame, so he could not walk- May dew! May dew!-A month for you, Gathering dew! THE GIPSY BEGGAR. In all ages and countries the parental affections have afforded the happiest themes for poetry. In a volume by a Mr. BURBIDGE we have noticed one which to us appears worthy of a place in any selection of poetry. The tale is told with admirable simplicity, aud the outburst of natural feeling, betraying the beggar's artifice, is one of those truthful pictures that proclaim man's common nature and prove that "we have all of us one human heart." THEY gave him nought; he turn'd away With such a sufferance as is bred I follow'd on that lordly train- For alms, when I drew near. For alms he had no home, he said, 'Twas cunningly devised to move My heart, however, he might guess; His was an ancient Roman's face, grace It glanced ten times while yet he spoke, I look'd upon the boy and him, |