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Sun I Sun Rises. I Sets. ~ 6 42 6 43 6 44 6 45 6 47 6 43 6 49 Moon's Phases. S'V' -Q "5 1329. OCTOBER^ 25 Sunday 46 Monday 27 Tuesday 29 Wednesday 29 Thursday 30 Friday SI Saturday M>Rh Water 5 IS 6 17 5 16 5 15 5 13 j 1 82 5 12 5 11 10 32 11 15 11 59 A. 45 % l K> — -I » to w ■ 1 • m '< c e ? 8 ft* 2 22 3 13 ^ »V « ... Kîfeâas % *Mi t* the Rift of rOETRY to hallo breathe round nature an sml lo shed over it a tint every place in which it move*, to odnug more exquisite than the perfumes of the rose more magical than tiie blush of morning." FOR THE DELAWARE REGISTER. To Theodore, and all who publish their love-ditties in the Newspapers . Not half so pungent is the pain Of thickest smoke, or hot Cayenne On tender eye, As seized my optics when I gazed Upon thy rhymes, thou Cupid-crazed And love-sick boy! Dost aim a lady's heart to win ? Thy song w*ere better whispered in Her ear alone : Or dost thou seek the petty fame Appended to a Poet's name ? Thon findest none. To storm a heart, and thus proclaim The siege before the world—for shame! Bo honor spared. Thy hobbling nag no longer good With Cupid's arrows, on the road Parnassus-ward. , Moreover, thou hast dealt a blow At woman's faith, and woman's vow, Non-suited lad! Oh! were I woman, wo were thine! No mimick'd armor of the Nine Should save thy head. And now I would that this same scrawl Be for the benefit of all Those who employ The public press with loving lore— Whether «• R. R.," or " Theodore,'* Or " Hopperboy." But, by the way, I will excuse Him of the hopper, while his Muse To *• Mary" groans; For Mary *s such a common name, Diviner could not find the dame His verse enthrones. DODO. — From the Baltimore Minerva and Emerald. ■« In all time of our prosperity, in all time of our adversity, in tlie hour of death, and in the'day of judgment—good Lord Church Liturgy. deliver ue." Oh! Lord deliver, when the unclouded ray Of earthly joyä upon our path is glowing; When gentle waters flow beside the way, And flowers of Eden are around us blowing— When syren voices softly breathe, where mirth And gladness, founts of pleasure are unsealing; Where silken chords are binding us to earth, And soft delusion o'er our souls is stealing, Then, Fathor, save I 0! Lord deliver, when the tempest's wing Sweeps wildly o'er the way our feet are treading; When deep and deeper shades are gathering, A horror of great darkness round us spreading. When hope deferred is preying on the heart, When friends elovod in death's embrace are sleeping _When cold and faithless trusted ones depart ; And we aloue our mournful watch are keeping, Then, Father save! O! Lord deliver, when from closing eyes Carth's dreams of grief and joy alike are fading— When on the spirit, the realities Of the cterna world, no cloud o'ershading, Pour io their solemn light—those piercing rays— Forgotten sins, secret offences, bringing Before the soul—which, shrinking from the blaze, For aid, for mercy, to thine arm is clinging. Then, Father save! O! Lord deliver, when from skies of fire. Where the pale stars like autumn leaves ere falling Thc Judge, amid the holy angel choir * Descends—the dead from earth and ocean calling— When every secret thought of every heart, That awful day of trial is revealing, When many, shuddering, hear tho word " depart,*' Their doom of exile and of horror sealing, Then, Father save! »♦< THE PAIdtfCITS HYMN. The following beautiful lines are from the pen of the Et trick Shepherd. They are designed to represent the morning prayer of a maniac who voluntarily became an outcast of the desert. Lauded be thy name forever, Thou of life the guard and giver; Thou canst guard thy creatures sleeping; Heal the heart long broke with weeping. God of stillness and of motion. Of the rainbow and the ocean, Of the mountain rock and river. Blessed be thy name forever! 1 have seen thy wondrous might. Through the shadows of the night. Thou w ho slumberest not nor steepest. Blest arc they thou kindly keepesl! God of evening's yellow ray, God of yonder dawning day, That rises from the distant sea, Like breathings from eternity; Thine tho flaming spheres of light, Thine the darkness of ti e night, Thine are all the gems of e\eu! God of angels! God of Heaven! * God of life that fade shull never, Glory to thy name forever! ►♦I MUTABILITY. Î saw two children intertwine Their arms around each other, Like the young tendrils of a vine About it« near» p t brother; And ever and anon, As gaily they ran on, They loked into each other's face, Anticipating an embrace. I saw those two when they were men,— J watched them meet one day; They touched each other's hands, and then— Each went on his own way. There did not seem a tie Of love, a bond or chain, To make them turn a lingering eye, Or grasp the hand again. This is a page in our life's book We all of us turn over— The web is rent, The hour-glass spent,— And oh, the path we once forsook, How seldom we recover! Our days are broken into parts, And every temnant has a tale Of the abandonment of hearts, Would make our freshest hopes grow' pale; And, when we talk of Friendship, mutter,— We know not what it is avc uttèr. I weep not that our lot is dark, I quail not that the mad wind blows About our heads, and miseries mark Their victories on our brows;— But that the dynasty of Fate Doth make our words a feather's weight— Doth mock our pledges with derision, And force us into indecision, And perjury of vows. L care not that our love may be Deep as the everlasting sea— But not the falling of a star, The darting of a sun-born beam. Compared with what our spirits are. And what unto ourselves we seem, Is tortured with a life so small, So wretchedly ephemeral, As these, our phantom-like communions. The fellow-eouls' fraternal unions.' LINES TO AN ORPHAN. FY MHH. HEM AW. Thou ha«t Lecn roared too tenderly, E<:-lovcd too well and long, Watched by loo muny a gentle eye* Now lool* on life—be strong! Too quiet nocnied thy joy for change, Too holy end too deep; Bright clouds, through summer skies that rang^ f Seem oftiincs thus to sleep— To sleep, in silvery stillness bound, As things that no'er may melt; Tel gaze 115*in—no trace is found To show thee where they dwelt. This wot id hath no more love to give Like that which thou hast known; Yet the heart breaks not—we survive Our treasures— and bear on. But oh! too beautiful and blest Thy home of youth hath boen; Where shall thy wing, poor bird, find re*.*, Shut out from that sweet scene ? Kind voices from departed years Must haunt thee many a da} ; Looks that will .«mite the source of tears. Across thy soul must play. Friends—now the altered or the dead— And music that is gone, A gladness o'er thy dream will shed r And thou shall wake ulone. Alone! it is in that deep word That all thy sorrow lies; How is the heart to courage stirred By smiles from kindred eyes! And are these lost ? and have I «aid To aught like thee—be strong? So bid tlie willow lift its head. And brave the tempest's wiong! Thou reed! o'er which the storm hath passed. Thou, shaken with the wind, , One friend, thy weakness cast, There is but One to bind. On THE NOVEL READER» She slumbered in the rocking-chair She'd occupied all day, And in her lap half opened there The last new novel lay. Upon the hearth the dying brands Their latest radiance shed, A flaring candle near tier stands With a crown about its heud. Her hair w hich long uncrirnpt had been, Was hanging loosely round, A single curl by a crooked pin On the side of her heud was hound. Her gown, it had been white, 1 weco, But white it was not then; Her rul' us too, hud once been dean And might be so again. One slipshod fool the fender prest* The other sought the floor. And folded o'er her heaving breast, A dull red shawl she wore. The flickering light is fading fast. The parlor colder grows, The midnight hour has long been past. The cock for morning crows. Yet cares not sho for mortal things, For in her busy brain, The novelist's imaginings, Are acted «'or again. But while in this delicious nap Her willing sense is bound, The book escaping fioui her Up, Fails lumbering to the ground. She wakes, but *tis alas! to see The caudle's quivering beam, Nor in the blackened coals can she Revive one friendly gleam. Then groping through the passage far She steals with noiseless tread. And leaving every door ajar. Creeps shivering to bed. One day at the table of the late Dr Pea me (Dean of Ely) just as the cloth was being removed, the subject of discourse happened to be, that of ;in extraordinary mortality amongst the lawyers. * We have lost* sai a gentleman, ' not leas than The Dean, who six eminent barristers, in as many months.' was deaf, rose as hie friend finished his remark, and gave the company grace: ' Foi this and every other mercy % tho Lord's name be praised!*—The «fleet was irresistible!