Each scene presents its peculiar objects, let us not then rest satisfied with a few slight attainments in the most extensive and fertile provinces, nor fancy ourselves as already admitted into the sanctuary of the temple of nature, when we are only in the porch; for there are many encouragements for us to yet press on, making ourselves still farther and farther acquainted with the wonders of creation, and studying the Deity in his operations, as well as in the revelations of his will, assured of the important fact, that "the more accurate and enlarged our knowledge of his works, the better shall we be able to understand his Word; and the more practised we are in his Word, the more readily shall we discern his truth in his works; for, proceeding from the same great Author, they must, when rightly interpreted, mutually explain and illustrate each other."

THOMAS GILLET.

Oxford, May 25, 1832.

INVITATION TO THE BOWER.

COME, Sarah, let us seek again

The winding walk o'erhung with roses;
Leave the rude city's noisy train,

And rest where Flora's self reposes.
Her charms how num'rous! and how fair!
Yet free from terror, sting, and snare!
Unlike the specious scenes where Art
Enchants the eye to wound the heart.

Come, Sarah, let us haste away,

The blossom'd bow'r, the grove's before us, Where the blithe warblers pour the lay,

Now singly sweet, now blent in chorus.
A thousand notes ascend the sky!
What concord in variety!

It is the general hymn of love,

The theme, the passion of the grove.

Come, Sarah, Nature smiles around,
Through all her realms beguiling sadness!
The skies with insect tribes abound,

And earth and heaven awake to gladness! Sweet Fragrance breathes! her spirit sails, Breeze-borne, o'er hills, through groves and dales; Then come, and quaff Health's balmy flood, Where all, like thee, is fair and good.

THE DAISY.

(BELLIS PERENNIS.)

Look on th' uncultur'd waste,
Where rings the bittern's hollow boomb;
Sees there the eye of taste

Nought to attract it! mark the daisy's bloom.

How exquisitely shap'd!

And with what brilliant colouring ting'd!
Its lap with gold upheap'd,

And pure white raylike skirts with crimson fring'd

Gem of the rugged wild!
The pilgrim's joy while wandering far;
His way thou'st oft beguil'd,

Shining in gloom, a lovely terrenę star.

Yes, either Ind may see

More stately plants, with gaudier blooms;
But will they smile like thee,

In northern climes, when the drear season comes.

'Tis Winter-yet appears Mid chilling blasts thy lovely form, Which with meek patience bears

The fury of the wild and ruthless storm.

So who th' Omniscient loves

To his unerring will resign'd,

When adverse strokes he proves,
And troubles rise, still bears a cheerful mind.

THE OWL.

(STRIX FLAMMEA.)

WHAT Sound from yonder time-rent tower,

With mantling ivy crown'd,

Rings at this silent evening hour,

And wakes the echoes round?

The owlet from her day-dream wakes,
As on her eye the starbeam breaks.