LANGSYNE.

BY DELTA.

Langsyne!—how doth the word come back

With magic meaning to the heart,

As Memory roams the sunny track,

From which Hope's dreams were loath to part!

No joy like by-past joy appears;

For what is gone we peak and pine.

Were life spun out a thousand years,

It could not match Langsyne!

Langsyne!—the days of childhood warm,

When, tottering by a mother's knee,

Each sight and sound had power to charm,

And hope was high, and thought was free.

Langsyne!—the merry schoolboy days—

How sweetly then life's sun did shine!

Oh! for the glorious pranks and plays,

The raptures of Langsyne!

Langsyne!—yes, In the sound, I hear

The rustling of the summer grove,

And view those angel features near,

Which first awoke the heart to love.

How sweet it is, in pensive mood,

At windless midnight to recline,

And fill the mental solitude

With spectres from Langsyne!

Langsyne!—ah, where are they who shared

With us its pleasures bright and blithe?

Kindly with some hath fortune fared;

And some have bowed beneath the scythe

Of death; while others, scattered far,

O'er foreign lands at fate repine,

Oft wandering forth, 'neath twilight's star,

To muse on dear Langsyne!

Langsyne!—the heart can never be

Again so full of guileless truth—

Langsyne! the eyes no more shall see,

Ah, no! the rainbow hopes of youth.

Langsyne! with thee resides a spell

To raise the spirit, and refine

Farewell!—there can be no farewell

To thee, loved, lost Langsyne!

Of the prose articles, we have already given some specimens—The Hour Too Many, a fortnight since; and Vicenza, just quoted. The next we notice is Recollections of Pere la Chaise, for the graphic accuracy of which we can answer; Eliza Carthago, an African anecdote, by Mrs. Bowditch; Terence O'Flaherty, a humorous story, by the Modern Pythagorean of Blackwood; two interesting stories of Modern Greece; a highly-wrought Persian Tale, by the late Henry Neele; Miss Mitford's charming Cricketing Sketch; the Maid of the Beryl, by Mrs. Hofland; a Chapter of Eastern Apologues, by the Ettrick Shepherd; the Goldsmith of Westcheap, a story of the olden time—rather too long; and a characteristic Naval Sketch.

As we have already drawn somewhat freely on the present volume, we may adduce that as the best proof of the high opinion we entertain of its merits. The editor has only two or three pieces; but the excellent taste and judgment displayed in the editorship of the "Forget-me-not" entitle it to a foremost place among the "Annuals for 1829."