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ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST'S DAY.

THE morning of this day is still regarded, in many parts of Europe, in something like the same light with our own Allhallows Eve, the Scottish observances and superstitions connected with which have been so beautifully treated by Burns in his Halloween.

This holiday, in olden time, was equally reverenced by the Christian and the Moorish inhabitants of Andalusia; and such of our readers as are acquainted with the ballad of the Admiral Guarinos, (which Cervantes has introduced Don Quixote as hearing sung by a peasant going to his work at daybreak) will recollect the mention that is made of it there.

"Three days alone they bring him forth a spectacle to be The feast of Pasch and the great day of the Nativity; And on that morn more solemn yet when the maidens strip the bowers,

And gladden mosque and minaret with the first fruits of the flowers."

The following is a very literal version of the ballad, which has been, for many centuries, sung by the maidens on the banks of the Guadalqui

vir, in Spain, when they go forth to gather flowers, on the morning of the Day of John the Baptist :

"Come forth, come forth, my maidens, 'tis the day of good St. John,

It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon;
And let us go forth together, while the blessed day is

new,

To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew.

Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the hedgerows all

are green,

And the little birds are singing the opening leaves be

tween;

And let us all go forth together, to gather trefoil by the

stream,

Ere the face of Guadalquivir glows beneath the strengthening beam.

Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not

away

The blessed blessed morning of John the Baptist's-day;
There's trefoil on the meadow, and lilies on the lee,
And hawthorn blossom on the bush, which you must
pluck with me.

Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and

cool,

And the violet blue far down ye'll view, reflected in the

pool;

And the violets and the roses, and the jasmines all toge

ther,

We'll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether.

Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we'll gather myrtle

boughs,

And we all shall learn, from the dews of the fern, if our lads will keep their vows :

If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the Baptist's blessing is ours.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, 'tis the day of good
St. John,

It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon;
And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is

new,

To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew."

PETRARCH.

PETRARCH had long wished to climb the summit of Mount Venoux, a mountain presenting a wider range of prospect than among the Alps or

Pyrenees. With much difficulty he ascended. Arrived at its summit, the scene presented to his sight was unequalled !-After taking a long view of the various objects which lay stretched below, he took from his pocket a volume of "St. Augustine's Confessions ;" and opening the leaves at random, the first period that caught his eye was the following passage :-" Men travel far to climb high mountains, to observe the majesty of the ocean, to trace the source of rivers-but-they neglect themselves." Admirable reasoning! conveying as admirable a lesson! Instantly applying the passage to himself, Petrarch closed the book, and falling into profound meditation,-"If," thought he, "I have undergone so much labour in climbing the mountain, that my body might be the nearer to heaven, what ought I not to do, in order that my soul may be received in those immortal regions."

BEN JONSON'S SACRED POETRY.

THIS admirable dramatist, amid the varied stores of his literary acquisitions (in which he was inferior to none, even in his learned age), did not entirely neglect the cultivation of the

Sacred Muse. Three of his pieces are distinguished in his works by the title of "Poems of Devotion;" they exhibit, however, but few traces of that vigorous genius which so preeminently characterizes his Plays, and of that ease and elegance which many of his Songs and Lyrical effusions display in as high a degree as any that are to be found in our language. Pure strength of thought, clothed in simple but powerful language, and adorned with an unambitious rhyme, form the distinguishing features of most of the compositions of this learned writer.

The following specimen is by no means calculated to give that high opinion of his talents and judgment with which the reader of his other works cannot fail to be impressed; it is more in the manner of Donne (with whom he was on terms of the closest intimacy), and appears not to have been intended for publication.

AN HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOUR.

I sing the birth was born to-night,

The Author both of life and light;

The Angels so did sound it,
And like the ravish'd Shepherds said,
Who saw the light and were afraid,

Yet search'd, and true they found it.

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