TO THE EVENING STAR.

I.

Hail! lonely wand'rer of the night;

I think on scenes afar,

While gazing on thy feeble light,
Thou modest evening star.

II.

I muse upon my native land;
Where, in my youthful day,
The wonder-veiling skies I scann’d,
And mark'd thy bashful ray.

III.

I think on friends, whose weary eye,
In death's unbroken sleep,

Since then has rested long-whilst I,

Am left alone to weep.

IV.

Then joy to think these waves of woe,

Break on no distant shore,

Where, welcom'd by those friends, I know

That I shall weep no more.

V.

But thy pale form shall last for aye,
Nor ought thy course can mar;

And other eyes shall watch thy ray,

Thou modest evening star.

DON.

MARRIAGE SONG OF THE GREEKS.

FROM THE FRENCH.

NOTE. It was in that most dreadful struggle for liberty between the Greeks and Turks, that sixty Grecian women, uncertain as to the fate of their husbands, and preferring death to slavery, resolved on an expedient which stands unrivalled in the annals of female heroism. Having assembled with their children on the brink of a precipice, each in succession took her infant, and with averted look hurled it into the torrent beneath; then forming a circle, they sung the following song, which was usual at their marriages, whilst every time the chorus was chaunted, one of them, detaching herself from the rest, resolutely leaped from the rock. This action was performed by the whole sixty with the most heroic intrepidity, and it is related as a miracle, that one survived her fall, and lived many years after.

I.

Why weepest thou, maiden ! 'tis the morn of thy gladness, Why so lorn, black-eyed virgin, so down cast thy brow? Like the tempest-bent lily, that droopeth in sadness

Its cup o'er the waters that ripple below.

CHORUS-SOW, sow with narcissus and roses,

Sow the couch where young beauty reposes.

II.

"Tis thy lover, I hear him, his footstepts returning, Let this ring be the token, the pledge of his love; If but now for thy beauty his fond breast be burning,

His true heart, werę it broken, still constant should prove. CHORUS. SOw, sow, &c.

III.

Take the torch of thy bridal with hallow'd light streaming,
Mark how sweet from its bright rays their odours are shed;
Oh, so pure from thy soul may a soft flame be beaming,
To perfume thy dark path to the deep silent dead.
CHORUS. SOW, sow, &c.

IV.

See, near thy green arbour their fellows deserted,

See those kids gaily sporting, with wild flowers crown'd; Thus soon o'er our meads, from the breast newly parted, Thy babes on the turf's bright enamel shall bound. CHORUS.-SOw, sow, &c.

V.

O fly to the vale, where thy myrtle's reclining,

As a shade o'er his slumbers their odours shall breathe;
Like the reaper for harvest his pannier entwining,
Does the mother her cradle with willows enwreath.

CHORUS. SOW, sow, &c.

VI.

Wouldst thou know the soft song that will sooth his light

slumbers,

That will hush thy young infant to tender repose;
Go, list to the turtle that woos in sad numbers,
Go, hark to the fountain that murmuring flows.

CHORUS. SOW, sow, &c.

M. W.

THE EDITOR'S NOTE BOOK.

No. I.

SEPTEMBER 10.-Could any thing be more truly independent than the following extract from a manuscript poem, received this day?

"If I should never get a reader, then

No one my muse at any time can blame,

I shall not fear the tongues of slanderous men,
Nor ever think of winning deathless fame;'
Indeed I never thought my feeble pen

Could e'er write ought worth notice, 'tis so lame;
And if what I have writ, no others read,
I can myself peruse my act and deed.'"

Consoling idea!

EDWIN FOSTER.

SEPTEMBER 12.-Was greatly amused by Ephraim Martask's contribution-circumstances, with which he will be acquainted, have rendered it inadmissible. The description in the following stanzas (with the exception of " drove darkness out") is not amiss.

With farworn goose quill in his grip,
A poet in his garret sat;

While glimmers from a farthing dip
Drove darkness out and brought the bat.

Like Pan on's pipes, the nightwind blew
On chimney tops a doleful strain,
Intruding oft the loose slates through,
Slates that admitted wind and rain.

The poet's locks (I mean his hair-
For other locks few poets own,)
Shook with the blast, &c.

SEPTEMBER 15. Went to Dover. N. B. I forget what sort of a journey.

SEPTEMBER 16. Whilst walking among the rocks in a very unfrequented part, I was astonished at seeing an eagle rise from the bottom of one of them with something in its beak-I clapped my hands and shouted, by which means the bird let

its burden fall, which I found to consist of several ancient manuscripts: the following was among the number:

MANUSCRIPT I.

It was about five years before the Romans left this island, that I was walking near Hanworte, where a castle had lately been erected, remarkable for the skill and beauty displayed in its structure, and which attracted much people to view it, when I espied on the road two very learned men; to wit, Drusus, the Roman, and Edward, the Britain; neither could speak the other's language, though they understood it readily enough.I, unperceived, for there was a long hedge between us, heard the following discourse, from which I knew they were journeying from the town of Leodas to visit this castle; they were now about forty furlongs from it, and Drusus appeared very overcome by the heat of the day.

DIALOGUE OF DRUSUS AND EDWARD.

D. Quid valet ?

E. What should ail it?
True tis sultry:

D. Nunquam plus ultra.
E. But still proceed we;
The breeze will temper-
D. Ne ventis crede,

Fallunt semper.

E. Poh! poh! you joke.

D. Dixi hoc;

Nec quod dixi falsum erit.

E. Drusus, you're a man of spirit.

D. O Edvarde, adularis;

E. No, by the kingdom of the fairies!

D. Mehercle, scis mortales bene:

E. No, Drusus, no, I don't know many.

D. Sed quis hic venit,

Non mihi notus?

E. Its Mr. Bennett,

Or Admiral Boatus.

Here the gentleman came up in the shape of Muret, a Gaul -a particular friend of both parties; they followed him to his house, which was hard by, and presently saw a huge pot of ale and a good piece of beef before them: the dialogue proceeded; D. Blande sodalis !

E. How good your ale is!
M. Il fait beau temps.
E. It wont be long.