pearance of the voyagers, as they traversed the waters by moonlight, is ably and beautifully sustained:

His boat was nigh; its fragile side,
Boldly the 'venturous wanderer tried;
Along they shot o'er the murmuring bay,
As they bore for the adverse bank away.
guess it was a full strange sight,

I

To see in the track of the ghostly light,
The swarthy chief and the lady bright,
O'er the heaving waves borne on;

While her white wan cheek and robe of white
The pale ray played upon;

And above his dusky plumage shook ;
Backward was flung his feathery cloak,
As his brawny arms were stretched to ply,
The oars that made their shallop fly:

I ween that he who had seen them ride,
As they rose in turn o'er the bellying tide,
Had deemed it a vision of olden time,

Of Afric wizard in faëry clime;

In durance dread, by sorceries dark,

Who wafted a lady in magic bark.

And all above, and around them, save
Where the quivering beam was on the wave,

Was dubious light, and shifting shade,
By clouds and mists and waters made:
The snowy foam on the billow lay,
Then sunk in the black abyss away;

The rack went scudding before the blast,
And its gloom o'er the bay came swift, and past;
Flittingly gleamed the silvery streak,

On the waving hills and mountain peak ;
But the star of love looked out in the west,
As if that lone lady's path she blest.

I have thus endeavoured, by a pretty extensive adduction of instances, to place the poetical merits of Mr. Eastburn and his Friend, in a conspicuous point of view; and, from what has been brought forward, I think it will readily be allowed, that to many of the qualifications necessary to constitute the genuine poet, more particularly to vividity of description, and energy of versification, they have established a just claim. They appear, indeed, to have been assimilated very closely, both in their powers of conception and execution, and, recollecting how unfavourable were many of the extrinsic circumstances which accompanied their joint

efforts in the composition of "Yamoyden," they have produced a work which, notwithstanding some defects in the fabrication of its fable, and some indications of haste and incorrectness in its style and metre, will obtain for itself not only a considerable share of present admiration, but will long preserve the memory of its youthful writers on the records both of genius and of friendship.

No. XI.

I call upon thee in the night,
When none alive are near;
I dream about thee with delight,-
And then thou dost appear,
Fair as the day-star o'er the hill,
When skies are blue, and all is still.

Thou stand'st before me silently,
The spectre of the past;
The trembling azure of thine eye,
Without a cloud o'ercast;
Calm as the pure and silent deep,
When winds are hush'd and waves asleep.-

It is a dream, and thou art gone;
The midnight breezes sigh ;

And downcast - sorrowful—alone —

With sinking heart, I lie

To muse on days, when thou to me

Wert more than all on earth can be!

4*

* These stanzas are taken from Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, vol. vi. p. 384, in which publication will be found numerous poetical contributions distinguished by the same letter of the

" How very adroitly, my dear Sir," said Edward, as he sate down to the little banquet in the Refectory of Rivaulx Abbey, "must you have managed this pleasing arrangement, thus to have escaped, not only detection, but even suspicion on my part. In our small establishment, and with my prying propensities, I should have thought this next to impossible."

"It was my wish, Edward," replied, Mr. Walsingham smiling, "that the unexpectedness of the thing should add to its welcome. I was aware, as I have just said, that the day would prove hot and sultry, and I well knew, from repeated experience, that much time would be consumed, and much fatigue incurred in duly noticing these magnificent ruins. I could not but recollect, also, that in my guests I had to contend with two very opposite stages of existence, with advanced life and opening youth, and though they had themselves, somewhat

Greek alphabet. I have heard these pieces ascribed to Mr. Dale, of Bene't College, Cambridge, and they are, in general, such, indeed, as, from the taste, and feeling, and imagination which they exhibit, would not detract from the reputation of any poet of the present day.