hing!

O dreadful is the world of dreams,
When all that world a chaos seems
Of thoughts so fixed before!
When heaven's own face is tinged with blood!
And friends cross o'er our solitude,
Now friends of our's no more!
Or dearer to our hearts than ever.
Keep stretching forth, with vain endeavour,
Their pale and palsied hands,
To clasp us phantoms, as we go
Along the void like drifting snow.
To far-off nameless lands!
Yet all the while we know not why,
Nor where those dismal regions lie,
Half hoping that a curse to so deep
And wild can only be in sleep,
And that some overpowering scream
Will break the fetters of the dream,
And let us back to waking life,
Filled though it be with care and strife;
Since there at least the wretch can know
The meanings on the face of woe,
Assured that no mock shower is shed
Of tears upon the real dead,
Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,
When bending o'er the death-like cheek
Of one who scarcely seems alive,
At every cold but breathing kiss.
He hears a saving angel speak--
'Thy love will yet revive!'

[1] An artist of celebrity is now engaged on a portrait of Mr.
Southey, _cum privilegio_, we suppose, Mr. Southey is not the only
public man, whose lineaments have been traduced by engravers.
Only look at some of the patriotic gentlemen who figure at public
meetings, and in _outline_ on cards, &c. But Houbraken is now
known to have been no more honest than his successors in portrait
engraving: although physiognomy and craniology ought to help the
moderns out in these matters.

Then comes A Farewell to the year, one of Mr. Lockhart's elegant
translations from the Spanish; a pretty portrait of rustic
simplicity--the Little Gleaner, by the editor; and some playful
lines by M.A. Shee, accompanying an engraving from his own picture
of the Lost Ear-Rings. The Wedding Wake, by George Darley, Esq. is
an exquisite picture of saddened beauty. The Ettrick Shepherd has
the Carle of Invertine--a powerful composition, and the Cameronian
Preacher, a prose tale, of equal effect. In addition to the
pieces already mentioned, by the editor, is one of extraordinary
excellence--the Magic Bridle: his Lines to a Boy plucking
Blackberries, are a very pleasing picture of innocence:--

There stay in joy,
Pluck, pluck, and eat thou happy boy;
Sad fate abides thee. Thou mayst grow
A man: for God m