The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 189

An Affectionate Wife's _EPITAPH_.

I died untimely; happier doom be thine: Live out thy years, dear husband! live out MINE.

NEW-YORK.

_MARRIED,_

On Monday the 29th ult. at New-Hurley, (Ulster County) Mr. JOHN ROSE, to Miss HANNAH MIKALS, both of that place.

On Tuesday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Smith, of Princeton, JOSIAH QUINCY, Esq. of Boston, Counsellor at Law, to Miss ELIZA S. MORTON, daughter of the late Mr. John Morton, of this city, merchant.

On Thursday, at Bedford, (L.I.) by the Rev. Dr. Livingston, TUNIS WORTMAN, Esq. Counsellor at Law, to Miss MARGARET LOUDON, both of this city.

[[Josiah Quincy, Esq., is "the" Josiah Quincy (1772-1864). Among other achievements, he was mayor of Boston and president of Harvard.]]

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._ _From the 4th to the 10th inst._

THERMOMETOR observed at 6, _A.M._ 3, _P.M._ Prevailing winds.

OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.

100 100 June 4 50 61 se. do. fgy. lt. w. clo. h. w. lg. t. r.

5 63 73 w. nw. clear lt. wd. do. do.

6 55 71 s. do. clear calm do. h. wd.

7 63 78 w. sw. clear lt. wd. do. do.

8 59 72 e. se. clear lt. wd. do. do.

9 64 78 e. do. fgy. lt. wd. clear calm 10 64 74 s. se. cly lt. wd. clear h. wd.

TO THE LILIES OF THE VALLEY.

Ye lowly children of the shelter'd vale, Like modest worth by scornful pride disdain'd, Your little, fleeting life, Who waste unseen, unknown,

In verdant veil how bashfully enwrap'd, Ye shun the officious hand, the searchful sight, With down-cast, pensive eye, And ever-musing heads!

Ah! when I view your meek, your humble mien, And all your highly breathing fragrance taste, How bleeds my sad'ning soul, For unprotected worth!

How bleeds so think that mortal excellence Is doom'd to live forgot, unheeded die!

For in your short-liv'd charms Are pictur'd well its fate.

For ye, ere yet the morning's rising gale Shall wing its early course, may cease to greet With the sweet breath of love The wakeful wanderer's way.

Nor longer, virtue's boast! a little day, A little hour, she blooms! Nor can her pow'r Us helpless victims shield From the unpitying grave.

Then come, my Anna's faithful bosom deck: For ever there true worth, true wisdom dwell.

Congenial to your state, Soft in that heaven rest.

There shall no busy insect dare obtrude Your sweets to rifle with perfidious kiss; While ye more fragrance taste Than in your native beds.

Your highest incense breathe, to emulate Those more than op'ning morning's purest sweets, That sit on rosy lips Of smiling chast.i.ty.

IRREGULAR STANZAS Upon the Death of a Young Lady.

It is vain! and her spirit has fled!

Matilda has sunk in the tomb; The beauty of Nature lies mix'd with the dead: Alas! how severe is the doom.

As a lily that blows in the vale, That springs to perfection, and dies; She bloom'd, and then sick'ned--but shall we bewail; The grave of the pure is the path to the skies.

The victim of woe and despair, Her soul now delights in its rest; And roving with bliss thro' the regions of air, Unites in the songs of the blest.

ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE.

I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate; But what shall sighs avail thee? thy poor heart, 'Mid all the "pomp and circ.u.mstance" of state, Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start

Sad recollections of Hope's garish dream, That shap'd a seraph form, and nam'd it Love, Its hues gay-varying, as the orient beam Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove.

To one soft accent of domestic joy, Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch'd dome; Those plaudits, that thy _public_ path annoy, Alas! they tell thee---Thou'rt a wretch _at home!_

O then retire, and weep! _Their very woes_ _Solace the guiltless._ Drop the pearly flood On thy sweet infant, as the FULL-BLOWN rose, Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighb'ring BUD.

And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend To lure thy wanderer from the syren's power; Then bid your souls inseparably blend, Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower.

GLEE.

(_Glorious Apollo._)