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From his sun-circled throne, see Morning advances,
O, thou soul of my soul-Evelina, aríse!
More charming thy smile than the morn's mildest hues ; More modest the beam of thy love-kindling eyes,
Than the lily, when, rifled, she weeps in her dews.
More serene is thy face, with beauty's blush beaming,
The richness of wild-honey dwells on thy lip;
Such sweets lie enclos'd in the bean's snowy flower, And tempt the wing'd bce its soft nectar to sip,
Ere it melts in the dew, or dissolves in the shower.
Red, red, is that lip, with playful smiles glowing,
As the strawberry that peeps at the foot of the thorn; Or the young-ey'd moss rose, when, in loveliness blowing, It pouts and it bends in the tears of the morn.
More fragrant thy breath than the apple's bright blossom,
O! glossy and black, as the jetty-wing'd raven,
More fair is thy neck than the moon-beam in motion,
Lingers fondly with kisses thy beauty to meet ; [ing, And the heath and the wild-furze their bloomy sweets blendHave reserv'd all their odours, my fair-one to greet.
I will range o'er the grove, at the foot of yon mountain, Where, in rapture's soft notes, gently cooes the ring-dove; And cull the fresh flowrets, that bloom near you fountain, And lay all their sweets at the feet of my love.
O, thou fair queen of smiles, my soul's only treasure,
Sweet virgin, nor gaze on thy heart-thrilling charms? In Miscother's deep wood shall I never enfold thee,
Nor press thee, enchantress, again in my arms?
Chaste child of a meek-ey'd and white-bosom'd mother, Hast thou heard the lone song that I breath'd on the breeze?
And wilt thou descend to the groves of Miscother,
And wander with me in the shade of its trees?
Thou com'st like gay spring, when, encircled with glory, She cheers the chill'd sons of the frost with her beam, And dissolves the cold mantle, which, icy and hoary,
Stern winter had spread on the face of the stream! O! thus to the trav'ler, sad, feeble, and weary,
Morning's harbinger comes with her soul-cheering light; When through the deep forest, dark, cheerless, and dreary, He wanders alone in the storms of the night!
THE STATUE OF THE DYING GLADIATOR.
R. Chinnery's excellent Prize Poem on The Dying Gladiator *, gave rise to much emulation. at Oxford. The following lines, by a Non-Academic, are deserving of preservation:
IMPERIAL Rome and trophied Greece no more
* See vol. xiv. p. 286.
All their vain hopes of boundless empire crush'd,
Still lives the Roman, still the Grecian name.
Yon cary'd memorial of their peerless skill,
One of the Commentators upon this Statue thought he could discover the torpor of death extending itself gradually from the extremities of the body.`
Studious alone to fall with manly grace *,
Thus when thy works attain their utmost art,
ON THE OXFORD HONOURS,
WHEN Sheridan wish'd to be double I. D,
The officers stopp'd him by crying but-" Fée :"
ON SEEING THE RIGHT HON. R.. B. SHERIDAN RANGED WITH THE DOCTORS, WITHOUT A DEGREE.
[From the Morning Herald.]
AMIDST the Doctors Sherry sits
(Self-dubb'd by talents) at his ease,
*The Gladiator is described as being particularly anxious, afte having been mortally wounded, ut procumbat honestè.
It is plainly seen, that, in his expiring moments, he exhibits a solicitude to maintain that firmness of aspect, which the Gladiators esteemed so honourable in a dying state.
GRAND ARMY OF FASHION.
ISPATCHES have been received at our office, EXCLUSIVELY, Containing an account of the operations of the Grand Army of Fashion, since the commencement of the present summer campaign. We have made from them the following extracts:
On the 22d of June, being the day after the prorogation of Parliament, the Grand Army of Fashion began to break up from its cantonments in Westminster. The Sharp-shooters and Rifle- corps marched for the coast, and took their stations at Brighton, They conBognor, Ramsgate, Margate, &c. &c. sisted principally of the flanking corps, with some heavy artillery, of large calibre, from Leadenhall Street and its vicinity. A few light troops marched at the same time for Bath, Bristol, Cheltenham, &c. They were in general well mounted, and made a showy appearance. It would be an endless task to attempt to enumerate the various skirmishes in which they have been since engaged; the campaign having been conducted, in a great measure, upon the plan of the present war in Spain-a sort of desultory warfare, in which every hero and heroine in the ranks has been anxious to touch the Spanish. The only. general action 'fought took place at Oxford. It is called the famous Battle of the Installation, and lasted four successive days. The enemy, on this memorable occasion, made a very grotesque appearance: they were dressed in an old-fashioned style, consisting of cumbrous scarlet gowns, velvet caps, and other emWhen drawn up in barrassing and feeble armour. battle array, they withstood the grape and cannister shot with firmness, and in many cases with obstinacy;