the admiration of future generations. He has produced some few works teeming with classic beauties, and these will stand the test of ages.

In sum, Rossini is one of the greatest composers which the nineteenth century has produced. He has appeared as the creator of a new and fascinating style; and he has raised from the dust the degraded and fallen melo-drama of his country. In a few short years, he filled the world with his renown, and acquired a universality of fame which no dramatic musician ever reached in so short a period. He has done much for his art, notwithstanding his faults. His "Barbiere" is alone sufficient to immortalize him; it is, and must ever remain, the archetype of the opera-buffa. Nor is this his only title to the suffrages of posterity. When his abortive attempts at the composition of the tragic opera shall be forgotten, and his now popular works have sunk, with the spirit which popularizes them, into the all-devouring gulf of time, then shall those noble works now neglected, form, with "Il Barbiere di Seviglia,” the structure of his immortality.

INFANT DAWN.

BY JAMES CONOLLY, ESQ.

O'

H! infant dawn! how beautiful art thou!

Gilding the east with many color❜d pride;
With radiant, rosy bloom, and purple smiles,
Kissing the hill tops, woods, and laughing streams,
Even as a mother lips her infant child,
While gazing on its cherub, morning face.
Beaming with joy to hear its mother's voice,
It leaps and struggles in her fond embrace,
And crows in ecstasy; with tiny hands
Twin'd 'mid the ringlets of her waving hair.
So joys all nature in thy loved approach,
Thou bright-eyed dawn! while varied, happy sounds
Of beast and bird proclaim thy glorious reign,
"Till the full chorus swells the vales along,
And hills reverberate with gladsome song.

Creation's earthly lord, weak erring man,
Shakes off the slumbers of his dreamy couch,
With all the shadowy phantasms of the soul
That in the night distract his sleeping sense;
And-paying first his orisons on high

To Him who gives, or yet witholds soft rest,-
Walks forth to taste the bracing breeze of morn,

Which grateful blows upon his freshen'd cheek,
And fragrant incense wafts from every flower.
Maid of the morn! I love thy glowing eye,
And charms of beauty in their varied tints;
And, while entranced, thine advent I behold,
My heart, new opening, turns to him, the Great,
Who, viewing earth's wide chaos from his throne,
Uttered his first decree to listening hosts,
Commanding thee to shed thy cheering beams,
Dispelling darkness from her wandering sphere.
Thy rays, Aurora, penetrate my soul;
Of all things earthly I do love thee most,
Because, while dwelling on thy burning charms,
I almost see thy Great Creator, God.