It is needless to add that our old friend will be succeeded in his title and estates by his next heir, eighteen hundred and twenty-nine, whose advent will no doubt be generally welcomed. We cannot help picturing to ourselves the anxiety, the singularly deep and thrilling interest, which universally prevails as his last hour approaches:-- "Hark the deep-toned chime of that bell As it breaks on the midnight ear-- Seems it not tolling a funeral knell? 'Tis the knell of the parting year! Before that bell shall have ceas'd its chime The year shall have sunk on the ocean of Time!" And shall we go on after this lone hour? no, we will even follow its course, draw this article to a close by wishing our readers, in the good old phrase, "a happy New Year and many of them;" and conclude with them, that Our pilgrimage here By so much is shorten'd--then fare thee well Year! VYVYAN. * * * * * ODE TO MORPHEUS. (_For the Mirror_.) Tell me, thou god of slumbers! why Thus from my pillow dost thou fly? And wherefore, stranger to thy balmy power, Whilst death-like silence reigns around, And wraps the world in sleep profound, Must I alone count every passing hour? And, whilst each happier mind is hush'd in sleep, Must I alone a painful vigil keep, And to the midnight shades my lonely sorrows pour? Once more be thou the friend of woe, And grant my heavy eyes to know The welcome pressure of thy healing hand; So shall the gnawing tooth of care Its rude attacks awhile forbear, Still'd by the touch of thy benumbing wand-- And my tir'd spirit, with thy influence blest, Shall calmly yield it to the arms of rest, But which, or comes or flies, only at thy command! Yet if when sleep the body chains In sweet oblivion of its pains, Thou bid'st imagination active wake, Oh, Morpheus! banish from my bed Each form of grief, each form of dread, And all that can the soul with horror shake: Let not the ghastly fiends admission find, Which conscience forms to haunt the guilty mind-- Oh! let not _forms_ like these my peaceful slumbers break! But bring before my raptured sight Each pleasing image of delight, Of love, of friendship, and of social joy; And chiefly, on thy magic wing My ever blooming Mary bring, (Whose beauties all my waking thoughts employ,) Glowing with rosy health and every charm That knows to fill my breast with soft alarm, Oh, bring the gentle maiden to my fancy's eye! Not such, as oft my jealous fear Hath bid the lovely girl appear, Deaf to my vows, by my complaints unmov'd, Whilst to my happier rival's prayer, Smiling, she turns a willing ear, And gives the bliss supreme to be belov'd: Oh, sleep dispensing power! such thoughts restrain, Nor e'en in dreams inflict the bitter pain, To know my vows are scorn'd--my rivals are approv'd!