Original Poetry. -o TO NIGHT. Oh Night! how sweet a blessing thou ! So dewy, calm, and starlight now; Thou comest to cool the fever'd pulse, O'errwhelmed the seared heart must be else God was most merciful in making Day for the noisy world when waking; And night, so full of peace, ordaining For those who suffer uncomplaining. How many tastes of joy's sweet cup! As the moon's beauty brightens up Above the ancient hills to-night, Who'll sorrow through to-morrow's slight? Hlow many watched yon world unbar Its gates of glory, for each star To join the sisterhood of heaven, To whom no other joy is given? 'Tis now the poet wanders forth, To gather up the rich of earth ; And bind in bright and charmed wreaths Which shall deay a thousand deaths, And bloom through ages as to-day, Though he who wreathed them fade away. 'Tis now the melancholy swain, Who loves-but loves, alas! in vain Roams idly by the river's side Till solitude's his chosen bride. 'Tis now the broken-hearted brief Composure mingles with his grief, And penetrates to brighter scenes, Though the grave's darkness intervenes, And feels that he shall soon possess Unmix'd immortal happiness. The captive now forgets his chain; Poss'd that, the tyrant's curse is vain. Oh triumph! guilty power can never- Though it may bind the link, or sever It from the quivering trunk--controut The emotions of the mighty soul ! Yes ; 'is the mind's-why should we heed, Howe'er the heart by day may bleed Night is the mind's ! to watch the moon, Though steeped in clouds, burst through them soon ; And still pursue her wandering, The same mysterious lovely thing. To float away in floods of thought, Though round us prison walls are wrought; And bask 'mid scenes of deathless bloom, Far, far away, from strife and gloom. These are thy treasures ever bright, Thy glorious treasures these, Oh Night ! H. PARKES.