POETRY.

From shs National Gazette.
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4 MAY MORNING.-DAWN. Throw up the window. 'Tis morn for life h its most subtitle luxury. The air

 Is like breathing from the rarer world; And the South wind seems liquid, it o'er-steals My bosom and my brow so bathingly!

 1t has come over gardens and the flowers . That kissed it are betrayed; for, as it parts With its invisible fingers my loose hair' Iknow it has been trifing with the rose, And stopping to tie violet. There is joy For all Gods creatures in it. The wet leaves Are stirring at ;;s touch, and birds are singing, As ito breathe were music; and the grass Sendg up its modest oder with the dew, Like the small tribute of humility. Lovely indeed is morning; have drunk Its fragrance and its freshness, and have felt Its delicate touch, and 'tis kindlier thing Than music, or a feast, or medicine.