THE GRAVE OF THE YEAR.
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Commissioners S1,S5 THE GRAVE OF THE YEAR. Be Becompos'd ev'ry toll and each turbulent mo- tion, That encircles the heart in life's treacher- ous snares; And the hour that invites to the calm of de- votion, Cndisturbd by regrets-unincunlber'd with cares. How cheeress the late blooming face of cre- Weary Time seems to pause on his rapid career, And fatigu'd with the work of his own desc latiOn, Looks behind with sme--on the grave of the year. H"r'<! the wind whistles rudey--the shad- ows are closing That enwrap his broad path in the mantle of night: While pleasures gay sons are in quiet repo- sng,- Undismay'd al the wrecks that have num- bered his flight. From yo;'r temple where Fashions bright ta- pers a'c lighted, Her .ot'ries in crowds, deck'd with garands appear: And (is yet their warm hopes by no spectres afrighted) Assemble to dance--round the grave of the year. Oh. hate the stalccup which the idIers have tasted, When think on the ills of Iifes comfort less day; How the flowers of my childhood their yer dure have wasted, And the friends of my youth have been sto- len away They think not how fruitless the warrnest en- deavour To recall the kind moments neglected, when near; When the hours that Oblivion has cancelPd forever, Arc nterrd by her hand--in the grave of the year. Since the last solemn reign of this day of re- fcction, WAnt.throngs have relinquish'd life's per ishing breath How many have shed the last tear of dejec- ton, And clos'd the dim eye in the darkness of How many have sudden their pilgrimage en- ded, ljClcdtn tue IoH pan euSeIOpeS tIlelF bier Or to Deaths lonesome valley have gently descended, @s And made their cold bed-with the grave oi the year. 'I'is the Year that so 'ate its new beauties dis closing Rose bright on the happy, the careless, and gay, Who now on their pillow of dust are reposing, Where the sod presses damp on their bo- soms of clay, Then talk not of Bliss, while our smiles are expiring, Disappointment still drowns it in Misery's tear: Reflect and be wise; for the day is retiring, And tomorrow will dawn-on the grave of the year. Yet awhile, and no seasons around us will flourish, But silence for each her dark mansion pre- pare, Where beauty no longer her roses shall nour- ish.

 Nor the lily o'erspread the wan cheek of Despair, But the eye shall with lustre unfading be brighten'd, When it wakes to true bliss, in yon orient sphere; By sunbeams in splendour immortal enght- end, Which no more shall go down-on the grave of the year. MONTGARNIER.