Daily National Intelligencer

TO THE EDITORS;

Gentlemen: Allow me to send you the following little piece of poetry, which I lately cut from a newspaper. It is given, in the paper from which I have extracted it, erroneously, I should presume, to Henry St John Tucker, instead of St. George Tucker, of Williamsburg, Virginia, who has been for many years known, at least among his friends, as an elegant poet, as well as an accomplished scholar and gentleman.

I would wish to see it circulated more extensively, not only as a beautiful specimen of native genius, but as furnishing a noble contrast to the present fashionable style, where the Muses are degraded into mere tattling old maids, and poetry, instead of appealing to the pure and exalted feelings of the heart, has become, of late, among us at least, a mere pandar to the lovers of ill-natured gossiping and low-bred scandal. A. B.

YOUTH AND OLD AGE.

Days of my youth! ye have glided away;
Hairs of my youth! ye are frosted and gray;
Eyes of my youth! your keen sight is no more;
Cheeks of my youth! ye are furrow'd all o'er;
Strength of my youth! all your vigor is gone;
Thoughts of my youth! your gay visions are flown.

Days of my youth! I wish not your recall;
Hairs of my youth! I'm content you should fall;
Eyes of my youth! ye much evil have seen;
Cheeks of my youth! bathed in tears have ye been;
Strength of my youth! why lament your decay?
Thoughts of my youth! ye have led me astray.

Days of my age! ye will shortly be past;
Pains of my age! yet awhile ye can last;
Joys of my age in true wisdom delight;
Eyes of my age! be religion your light;
Thoughts of my age! dread ye not the cold sod;
Hopes of my age! be ye fixed on your God!

Though these lines were published in this paper two or three years ago, many of our present readers have probably never seen them; and our old friends will we are sure, have no objection to see them again. Our correspondent is right in attributing them to St. George Tucker, now Judge of the District Court of Virginia. ]-
Nat. Intell.