amorous came
Poor Tray, with scratch and whine,
The mistress rose, and much to blame
His rudeness did incline.

As gladly she the door unbarr'd,
Her weary man to greet,
The generous dog, with kind regard,
Rush'd fondling round her feet.

He moaned, he howl'd, he seized her gown,
And drew her gently forth;
She follow'd him across the down,
For she had prov'd his worth.

Beside the road the quarries lay,
Capacious, dark, and deep;
The steed had swerv'd one step astray,
And tumbled down the steep.

There lay poor Ambrose, stunn'd and pale,
Unhurt, his beast stands by;
And thither Tray, with frisking tail,
Attracts his mistress' eye.

Nor would he quit his master's side,
Such sympathy he found----
He lick'd his pallid cheek, and tried
To raise him from the ground.

Heaven, and her friends, their aid afford
To Julia's tears and vows,
And soon to life and love restor'd
Her much lamented spouse.

On wintry nights, when beats the storm,
And howling winds prevail,
The children round the brick hearth warm,
Repeat th' affecting tale.

While Tray, outstretch'd, the fire enjoys,
And rests his long white chin
On their soft laps who speak his praise,
And pat his downy skin.

O happy dog! no faithless man,
With prouder gifts endu'd,
Shall ever, share with thee, or scan
The joys of gratitude.

* * * * *

The following fragment of an elegant little ode to music will interest
the reader of taste, not only on account of the sweetness of its
numbers, diction, and sentiment, but also for that melancholy but
sublime anticipation of an affecting truth, that he was not made for a
long continuance in this world, which caused him to contemplate the
future with heightened satisfaction.

_By Henry Kirk White._

TO MUSIC.

O give me music; for my soul doth faint.
I'm sick of noise and care: and now mine ear
Longs for some air of peace, some dying plaint
That may the spirit from it's cell unsphere.

Hark, how it falls?--And now it steals along,
Like distant bells upon the lake at eve
When all is still--and now it grows more strong,
As when the choral train their dirges weave,

Mellow and many voic'd--where every close
O'er the old minister-