So did Guy betimes discover
Fortune was his guard and lover ;

In strange junctures, felt with awe
His own symmetry with law,
That no mixture could withstand

The virtue of his lucky hand.

He gold or jewel could not lose,
Nor not receive his ample dues;
In the street, if he turned round,
His eye the eye 'twas seeking found.
It seemed his Genius discreet
Worked on the Maker's own receipt,
And made each tide and element
Stewards of stipend and of rent;
So that the common waters fell

As costly wine into his well.

He had so sped his wise affairs

That he caught nature in his snares;

Early or late, the falling rain

Arrived in time to swell his grain;
Stream could not so perversely wind,

But corn of Guy's was there to grind ;
The whirlwind found it on its way
To speed his sails, to dry his hay;
And the world's sun seemed to rise
To drudge all day for Guy the wise.

In his rich nurseries, timely skill

Strong crab with nobler blood did fill ;

The Zephyr in his garden rolled

From plum trees vegetable gold;
And all the hours of the year

With their own harvest hovered were:
There was no frost but welcome came,
Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame;
Belonged to wind and world the toil
And venture, and to Guy the oil.

ТАСТ.

WHAT boots it, thy virtue,

What profit thy parts,

While one thing thou lackest,

The art of all arts!

The only credentials,

Passport to success,

Opens castle and parlour,

Address, man, Address.

The maiden in danger

Was saved by the swain,

His stout arm restored her

To Broadway again:

The maid would reward him,—

Gay company come,

They laugh, she laughs with them,

He is moonstruck and dumb.

This clenches the bargain,

Sails out of the bay,

Gets the vote in the Senate,

Spite of Webster and Clay;

Has for genius no mercy,
For speeches no heed,-

It lurks in the eyebeam,
It leaps to its deed.

Church, tavern, and market,
Bed and board it will sway;

It has no to-morrow,

It ends with to-day.

HAMATREYA.

MINOTT, Lee, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint,

Possessed the land, which rendered to their toil Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and wood. Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm, Saying 'Tis mine, my children's, and my name's. 'How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees; 'How graceful climb those shadows on my hill; 'I fancy those pure waters and the flags 'Know me as does my dog: we sympathize,

‘And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.' Where are those men? Asleep beneath their grounds, And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.

Earth laughs in flowers to see her boastful boys

Earth proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs ;

Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet

Clear of the grave.—

They added ridge to valley, brook to pond,

And sighed for all that bounded their domain,

This suits me for a pasture; that's

my park, We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge,

And misty lowland where to go for peat.

'The land is well,-lies fairly to the south.

'Tis good, when you have crossed the sea and back,

'To find the sitfast acres where you left them.' Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds

Him to his land, a lump of mould the more.