Fierce he broke forth; "And dar'st thou then The Douglas in his hall? And hop'st thou thence tunscath'd to go? Up drawbridge, grooms,-what, warder, ho! Lord Marmion turn'd,-well was his need,— Like arrow through the arch-way sprung; 5. The steed along the drawbridge flies, And shook his gauntlet at the towers. "Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" 1. THE sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal; every other affliction, to forget; but this wound, we consider it a duty to keep open. This affliction we cherish, and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother, who would willingly forget the infant that has perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would willingly forget a tender parent, though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of *agony, would forget the friend, over whom he mourns? 2. No, the love which survives the tomb, is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection; when the sudden anguish, and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was, in the days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may, sometimes, throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet, who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead, to which we turn, even from the charms of the living. 3. Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, covers every defect, textinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom, spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave, even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies +moldering before him? But the grave of those we loved, what a place for meditation!" There it is, that we call up, in long review, the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us, almost unheeded, in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it is, that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene; the bed of death, with all its stifled griefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful assiduities! the last testimonies of expiring love! the feeble, fluttering, thrilling, oh, how thrilling!-pressure of the hand! the last fond look of the glazing eye turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence! the faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection! 4. Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and medidate! There settle the account with thy conscience, for every past benefit unrequited; every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being, who can never-never-never return to be soothed by thy *contrition! If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou hast given one unmerited pang to that true heart, which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet; then be sure, that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul; then be sure, that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the tunavailing tear; more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. 5. Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile tributes of regret; but take warning, by the bitterness of this, thy contrite affliction over the dead, and henceforth, be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living. 1. THOU hast been where the rocks of coral grow, 2. Thou hast look'd on the gleaming wealth of old, But thou its bar hath riven ! 3. A wild and weary life is thine, A wasting task and lone; Though treasure-grots for thee may shine, 4. A weary life! but a swift decay Thou 'rt passing fast from thy toils away, 5. In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek, Go, for the pearl in its cavern seek, 6. And bright in beauty's coronal - 7. None;-as it gleams from the queen-like head, Not one, 'mid throngs, will say, "A life hath been like a rain-drop shed, 8. Woe for the wealth thus dearly bought!- Who win for earth, the gems of thought? 9. Down to the gulfs of the soul they go, 10. Wringing from +lava-veins the fire Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre 11. But oh! the price of bitter tears, Paid for the lonely power, That throws at last, o'er desert years, A darkly glorious dower! 12. Like flower-seeds by the wild wind spread, The soul whence those high gifts are shed, 13. And who will think, when the strain is sung, Till a thousand hearts are stirr'd, What life-drops from the minstrel wrung, 14. None, none!-his treasures live like thine, Thou that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine, CLXIV. ANECDOTE OF THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. A LAUGHABLE story was circulated during the administration of the old Duke of Newcastle, and retailed to the public in various forms. This nobleman, with many good points, was remarkable for being +profuse of his promises on all occasions, and valued himself particularly, on being able to anticipate the words or the wants of the various persons who attended his levees, before they uttered a word. This sometimes led him into ridiculous embarrassments; and it was this proneness to lavish promises, which gave occasion for the following anecdote. 1. Ar the election of a certain +borough in Cornwall, where the opposite interests were almost equally poised, a single vote was of the highest importance. This object, the Duke by well applied argument and personal application, at length attained; and the gentleman he recommended, gained the election. In the warmth of gratitude, his grace poured forth acknowledgments and promises without ceasing, on the fortunate possessor of the casting vote; called him his best and dearest friend; protested, that he should consider himself as forever indebted to him; that he would serve him by night or by day. 2. The Cornish voter, who was an honest fellow, and would not have thought himself entitled to any reward, but for such a torrent of acknowledgments, thanked the Duke for his kindness, and told him, "The +supervisor of excise was old and infirm, and if he would have the goodness to recommend his son-in-law to the commissioners, in case of the old man's death, he should think himself and his family bound to render his grace every assistance in his power, on any future occasion." "My dear friend, why do you ask for such a trifling employment?" exclaimed his grace, "your relative shall have it, the moment the place is vacant, if you will but call my attention to it." "But how shall I get admitted to you, my lord? for in London, I understand, it is a very difficult business to get a sight of you great folks, though you are so kind |