Where healthy labour tills the fruitful fields ;
Where all her fragrant blossoms Flora yields;

Where smiling plenty fills her golden horn,

And thriving flocks the hills and vales adorn.
How sweet!—but cease my Muse, nor vainly try

To tell what beauties here attract the eye;

Weak are thy pow'rs-as well thou might'st essay
To count the stars that form the milky-way.

Let all to this delightful cot repair,

And fancy's most delicious banquet share :
The fair MONTGOMERY with a gen'rous heart,

Bids all enjoy it, and in peace depart.

STANZAS

ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN ARTHUR LUSK, WHO CIRCUM

That heart is now cold as a stone,

Where honour had fix'd her abode,

Where truth had establish'd her throne,

And learning her gifts had bestow'd.

The arm now doth motionless lie,

That wielded the death-dealing sword;

And clos'd evermore is that eye,

Which far distant regions explor'd.

Farewell! son of Neptune! farewell !

Life's tempests thou long hast endur'd; Misfortune's rude waves now may swell,

For thou art in harbour safe moor'd.

Till the archangel calls thee from rest

By piping all sailors aloft.

Then joyfully may'st thou set sail,

And gain that Elysian shore

Where the storm or the billows shall fail
To disturb thy repose any more.

LINES

ON SEEING SUMMERHILL, FROM THE ROAD BETWEEN PORTAFERRY AND KIRKCUBBIN. 10

A LONELY pilgrim dragging on

Life's weary chain, I pensive stray'd;

Dreaming of days for ever gone,

When joy her syren charms display'd:

A modest mansion caught my eye,

To know it baffled all my skill :

When gratitude said with a sigh

"Canst thou forget sweet Summerhill ?"

"Canst thou, whilst life retains her seat,

"Forget that form divinely fair;

"Who spoke to thee in accents sweet,

"The cheering words of friendship there? "Canst thou forget those eyes so bright,

"Which made thy soul with rapture thrill ? "They said..." poor merit still shall meet "A steady friend at Summerhill."

Ah no! while in this heart of mine

The vital tide shall ebb and flow

That sacred spot...that form divine,
Fond mem❜ry never can forego:

And, when the awful voice of death

Shall bid the pulse of life be still,

The latest effort of my breath,

Shall bless my friend at Summerhill.

OCCASIONAL ADDRESS,

ON OPENING A PRIVATE THEATRE IN BANGOR, FOR A CHARITABLE PURPOSE.

SPOKEN BY MR. R. GRAY.

WHO has not learnt from Shakespeare's famous page,

That men are players, and this earth a stage?

And all who take of life a serious view,

Will feel convinced that Avon's Bard said true.
Now, I would ask all present, who have been
From boyhood call'd to man's more serious scene,
What are the fears which hang around the heart,
When entering first on man's important part?
Such fears are ours.we start at every breath!
In ev'ry whisper hear a burst of wrath!

In ev'ry look our bitter doom presage—
And wish we ne'er had ventur'd on the stage.

Yet soothing hope would set our hearts at ease,
With kind encouragement that we may please;

K