LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

THIS lady, whose poems published under the initials L. E. L. display much grace of versification and correct feeling, was for several years known as a contributor to various periodical publications. In 1837 she married a gentleman named Maclean, who was governor of one of the English settlements on the coast of Africa, but died there shortly after her arrival, under very melancholy circumstances.

THE ORPHAN.

ALONE, alone!-no other face

Wears kindred smile, or kindred line;

And yet they say my mother's eyes,

They say my father's brow, is mine;

And either had rejoiced to see

The other's likeness in my face,

But now it is a stranger's eye,

That finds some long forgotten trace.

I heard them name my father's death,
His home and tomb alike the wave;
And I was early taught to weep,

Beside my youthful mother's grave.
I wish I could recall one look,-
But only one familiar tone;

If I had ought of memory,

I should not feel so all alone.

My heart is gone beyond the grave,
In search of love I cannot find,

Till I could fancy soothing words

Are whispered by the evening wind:

I gaze upon the watching stars,

So clear, so beautiful above,

Till I could dream they look on me

With something of an answering love.

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LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

My mother, does thy gentle eye,

Look from those distant stars on me?
Or does the wind at evening bear

A message to thy child from thee?
Dost thou pine for me, as I pine

Again a parent's love to share?
I often kneel beside thy grave,

And pray to be a sleeper there.

The vesper bell!-'tis eventide,

I will not weep, but I will pray:

God of the fatherless, 'tis Thou

Alone canst be the orphan's stay!
Earth's meanest flower, heaven's mightiest star,
Are equal to their Maker's love:
And I can say, Thy will be done,"
With eyes that fix their hopes above.

THE PILGRIM.

VAIN folly of a another age,

This wandering over earth,

To find the peace by some dark sin,
Banished our household hearth.

On Lebanon the dark green pines
Wave over sacred ground,
And Carmel's consecrated rose

Springs from a hallowed mound.

Glorious the truth they testify,

And blessed is their name;

But even in such sacred spot,
Are sin and woe the same.

O Pilgrim! vain each toilsome step,
Vain every weary day;

There is no charm in soil or shrine,

To wash thy guilt away.

LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

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Return, with prayer and tear, return
To those who weep at home;
To dry their eyes will more avail,
Than o'er a world to roam.

There's hope for one who leaves with shame,

The guilt that lured before: Remember, He, who said "Repent,'

Said also, "Sin no more."

Return, and in thy daily round
Of duty and of love,

Thou best wilt find that patient faith,
Which lifts the soul above.

In every innocent prayer, each child
Lisps at his father's knee:-

If thine has been to teach that prayer,
There will be hope for thee.

There is a small white church, that stands
Beside thy father's grave,

There kneel and pour those earnest prayers
That sanctify and save.

Around thee draw thine own home ties,
And with a chastened mind,
In meek well-doing seek that peace,

No wandering will find.

In charity and penitence,

Thy sin will be forgiven;

Pilgrim, the heart is the true shrine,

Whence prayers ascend to heaven.

ROBERT MONTGOMERY,

A CLERGYMAN of the Established Church, is the author of The Omnipresence of the Deity, and some other works, which have become deservedly popular, as they exhibit great command of language and the other graces of poetry, united to much amiable sentiment, and have throughout but one object-that of impressing the awful truths of religion upon the heart of the reader.

ANGELS.

ELYSIAN race! while o'er their slumbering flocks
The Galilean shepherds watched, ye came
To sing hosannas to the heaven-born Babe,
And shed the brightness of your beauty round:
Nor have ye left the world, but still, unseen,
Surround the earth, as guardians of the good;
Inspiring souls, and leading them to heaven!
And oh! when shadows of the state unknown
Advance, and Life endures the grasp of Death,
'Tis yours to hallow and illume the mind,
The starry wreath to bring, by angels worn,
And crown the spirit for her native sphere.

BEAUTY OF HOLINESS.

Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds
Reflect such glory on the eye supreme,
As the meek virtues of one holy man:
For ever doth his Angel, from the face
Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw:

And in his prayer, what privilege adored!

Mounting the heavens and claiming audience there :

Yes! there, amid a high immortal host

Of seraphs hymning in eternal choir,
A lip of clay its orisons can send,

In temple or in solitude outbreathed.

CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION.

Go, child of darkness! see a Christian die!
No horror pales his lip, or dims his eye;
No fiend-shaped phantoms of destruction start
The hope religion pillows on his heart,
When with a faltering hand he waves adieu
To all who love so well, and weep so true;
Meek, as an infant to the mother's breast
Turns fondly, longing for its wonted rest,
He pants for where congenial spirits stray,
Turns to his God, and sighs his soul away.

DIVINE PERFECTION OF CHRIST.

OH! who shall paint Him?-let the sweetest tone
That ever trembled on the harps of heaven,
Be discord; let the chanting seraphim,
Whose anthem is eternity, be dumb;
For praise and wonder, adoration,-all

Melt into muteness, ere they soar to Thee,

Thou sole Perfection!-Theme of countless worlds!