POETRY.

From the Baltimore Chronicle.

 TO A STAR,
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IO A = TAX. Thnti trembling meteor in the fields of Space That seemsl for 10 have place nor part, But made some happier orb to light and grace,

 Oh, tel me what thou art? Art thou world like this, opaque and round, Peopled with heings who are born to die! Or of the countless millions which surround

 The throne of the Most High? IT filled with mor'as, are they of degrees, From him who governs, to the wretch who deives The weaker to the stronger slaves, aud these

 Saves to their grosser selves? And do some to for riches some for power; Giving immortal hopes for but a name :; Joys pure and endless for pary hour

 Of ron,p, or booess fame Perhaps thou art a sun when seen more near, Yielding thy generous heat to worlds afar And this sun, may to those worlds appear

 As thou tO us-a star. Melhinks as now thou tremhest in the sky, Thou knows, wha, longings swell my thirsng heart; Thyself reveal, then, beauteoss mystery!

 Oh tesi me what thon :ri