ormer
times, the Kings of France and the Dukes of Britanny made frequent
pilgrimages, and performed penance at the shrine of St. Michael."

The lofty situation of the church appears to be peculiar to the churches
dedicated to St. Michael. In many parts of the world they are built on
very lofty eminences, in allusion, it is said, to St. Michael's having
been the highest of the heavenly host. St. Michael's, in Cornwall, is
another confirmation of this remark.

We have the pleasure of acknowledging the original of our Engraving
from an elegant Print Scrap Book, now in course of publication by Mr.
H. Dawe. It consists of well executed mezzotinto prints which are worthy
of the album of any fair subscriber.

[1] Primary rocks are supposed by geologists to constitute the
foundation on which rocks of all the other classes are laid;
and if we take an enlarged view of the structure of the globe,
we may admit this to be the fact,--but the admission requires
certain limitations.--Bakewell.

* * * * *

NIOBE.

(_For the Mirror._)

Hush'd are the groans of death, heart-piercing sound,
That mournful rose in peals on peals around;
Child after child by heav'nly darts expires,
And frequent corses feed the gloomy pyres.
Aghast she stands!--now here in wild amaze--
Now there the mother casts her madd'ning gaze:
In fixedness of grief, in dumb despair,
Her looks, her mien, her inmost soul declare:
Her looks, her mien, her deep-sunk anguish show
With all the silent eloquence of woe.

See! from her cheek the rosy lustre flies;
How dim the beams that sparkled in her eyes.
No more so softly heaves the throbbing breast;
The purple currents in their channels rest;--
No more the Zephyr's balmy breath can wave
The graceful locks which laughing Hebe gave;--
And fade those lips where fresh vermilion shone,
Cold as the clay, or monumental stone;--
O'er all her limbs an icy numbness spreads,
And marble death eternal quiet sheds.

[2]Great sculptor hail! whom Nature's self design'd
To trace the labyrinths of the human mind--
To read the heart, and give with strong control,
To stone the silent workings of the soul:
Thine all-creative hand, thy matchless skill
Could what unbounded genius plann'd, fulfil.
Hence sprang that grief-wrung form--the languid eye--
The bloodless lip, and look of agony--
That face, w