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equally dangerous, equally fatal by their violence; and toss the soul with tempestuous fury on billows which never rest, without a pilot, without a compass, without a helm; no hope of safety remains for the unhappy voyager, but in the hushing of the storm, and the subsidence of the tumultuous ocean.—Dr. Wight.
The Principality of Wales.—Wales, or Cimru, was originally divided into six principalities, governed by as many chieftains, or reguli; but at a subsequent period these provinces were contracted into the three sovereignties of North Wales, South Wales, and West Wales, or Powis land. This latter division was effected in theninth century by Rodio Mawr, or Roderick the Great, in favour of his sons, Mearawd, Cadell, and Mervyn. Each of these sovereigns possessed a distinct and absolute authority within his own dominions; but, according to the spirit and custom of gavelkind—"that fatal source from which the Welch tasted so copiously of the waters of bitterness"—a pre-eminency over the other princes was established in the Kings of North Wales, who were invested with the nominal title of Brenhin Cymru Oll, or King of all Wales.
Many people talk a great deal of equality. But while they would be glad to have those above them levelled down, they would not for the world have those below them levelled up.
A life of duty is the only cheerful life;—for all joy springs from the affections; and 'tis the greatlaw of Nature, that without good deeds, all good affection dies, and the heart becomes utterly desolate. The external world then loses all its beauty; poetry fades away from the earth; for, what is poetry, but the reflection of all pure and sweet, all high and holy thoughts? But where duty is—
"Flowers laugh beneath her in their beds,
And fragrance in her footing treads:—
She doth preserve the stars from wrong,
And the eternal heavens, through her, are fresh and strong."
For the Lady's Book.
ENIGMA.
The evening I usher, tho' banished from morn;
In the heart of the rosebud, I fear not its thorn,
My dwelling is Heaven, yet I've ne'er seen a star,
I'm always in peace, since I ne'er go to war.
From the day of my birth, I've graced history's page:
I've been twice in my teens, tho' but once of age.
Tho' viewless in gulphs or in bays most profound,
I dwell in the Ocean and strengthen its sound.
To music untuned—yet no sound of the flute
Or tone of the trumpet would swell were I mute.
I'm always in love—yet from woman depart;
I'm always in tears, yet of gaiety a part.
Though the end of misfortune, I begin endless grief,
And epicures say I'm the escence of beef.
I am traced in the forest, yet fly from the wood,
And tho' true to virtue, am, alas! far from good.
Time is engdless without me—Etrnity too,
Says 'I cannot begin or go on without you.'
I dwell in the East, in the West I'm at home,
But from North and from South, far far do I roam.
I sport in the Summer, to the heat am inured,
In darkness am seen, but by daylight obscured.
Y. P.
Mrs. Sigourney.—The ladies of this country may justly put in their claims for distinction, in every path of literature, but particularly in poetry. It is considered among the elegant accomplishments of the age, and the great number who possess the talent prove that this is a land of pure etherial fancy, and correct taste. Mrs. Sigourney, who was known as a poet in her maiden days, then Miss Huntley, has not with the cares of her family, as is often the case with female musicians, or poets, neglected her devotions to the muse; but has given the world other effusions since, marked with more strength and beauty than those which charmed all who read them, in her earlier days. There is a sweetness, a depth of feeling, a grasp of thought, united with the most perfect care and elegance in her writings, that shows she was intended to be conspicuous among gifted minds, and an ornament to the virtuous as well as the intellectual part of the community. From her residence of elegance and taste on the banks of the lovely Connecticut, she sends forth her minstrelsy, to guide the young and delight the old, and to improve all ages; may it be long before others shall supply her place; may the flowers of her arbours bloom, and her harp be in tune, until nature shall require that repose that philosophy contemplates with composure and religion with visions of hope and transport—Sketches of Public Characters.
For the Lady's Book.
WINTER.
I come, for the year is old;
The fields have doff'd their mantle of gold,
And tilting down from the shaking tree,
The blushing leaf falls whirlingly.
Droops to old Ocean the weary Sun,
Ever the last of his radiant course is run;
And the early shadows of ev'ning gray
Close the bright round of the shorten'd day.
I come, with my snow-flake, spotless white,
With my frosty chain for the waters bright,
With my pendants of diamond for bush and tree,
And the cricket chirping so cheerily.
I come with the shout of the festive throng,
With the merry tale and the Christmas song,
With the laugh of the young as the stocking pours
The torrent rich of its sugar'd stores.
I peep through the pane at the blazing hearth,
At the smile of age, and at childhood's mirth;
At the crowing babe, the applauding sire,
The steaming urn and the cheerful fire—
At the blushing maid and the happy swain,
Seated apart from the merry scene,
While soft as the coo of the amourous dove,
Their whispered breathings tell of love.
I come with my mantle of feathery snow,
And breathe on the chilly pane as I go,
Till ruined tower and icy tree
On the frosted window tell of me.
But the whole of my fairy work is done,
When from bright chariot, the blessed Sun
Casts his warm glances on rill and brae,
Till the gladwom waters burst away.
Then buds the young leaflet, the gay birds sing,
Earth dons her green mantle to welcome spring—
Young Zephyr on flowery sweets reposes,
And wild bees sport mid the new-born roses.