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From his sun-circled throne, see Morning advances,
Soft-tinging the air with his rays as he goes ; And he mingles the blush with his smiles and bis glances,
That his kisses hare stol'n from the crinison'd-ey'd rose. O, thou soul of my soul-Evelina, arise !
More charming thy smile than the niorn'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,
Than yon blue vault above, at the dawning of day, When the sun'strembling light, o'er the azure arch streaming,
Has embosoni’d the heavens in glory's pure ray. The richness of wild-honey dwells on thy lip;
Such sweets lie enclos'd in tlie bean's snowy flower, And tempt the wing'd bee 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,
Whose perfume the zephyr hath stol'n as he goes,
And sighs as he leaves it to rifle the rose.
Adown thy white shoulders thy dark tresses flow;
Like shadows that move o'er a surface of snow ! More fair is thy neck than the moon-beam in motion,
Or the breast of the swan, when he floats in his pride, And his bosom, that resis on the slow-muving ocean,
Is wantonly beav'd by the swell of the tide. Arise, Evelina! the sun-beam descending,
Lingers fondly with kisses thy beauty to meet; [ing, And the heath and the wild-furze their bloomy sweets blend
Have resery'd all their odours, my fair-one to greet.
I will range o'er the grove, at the foot of yon mountain,
Where, in raptore's soft notes, gently cooes the ring-dove; And cull the fresh flowrets, that bloom near yon fountain,
And lay all their sweets at the feet of my love. 0, thou fair queen of smiles, my soul's only treasure,
0, life of my life, in thy beauty'arise! For, ah! ev'ry hour of thy absence I measure,
And number each moment that passes with sighs ! In the moss-circled cave shall I never behold thee,
Sweet virgin, nor gaze on thy heart-thrilling charnis ? 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! 0! thus to the trav'ler, sad, feeble, and weary,
Morning's barbinger 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. MR. 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 O'er prostrate realms their conqu’ring legions pour
All their vain hopes of boundless empire crush’d,
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:
EPIGRAMS ON THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN. 5
Thus when thy works attain their utmost art,
ON THE OXFORD HONOURS,
[from the British Press, July 19.) When Sheridan wish to be double L. 1),
The officers stopp'd hina' by crying out fde;"
ON SEEING THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN
RANGED WITH THE DOCTORS, WITHOUT A DEGREE,
[From the Morning Herald.]
(Self-dubb'd by talents) at his ease,
* The Gladiator is described as being particularly anxious, after 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.
[From the British Press, July 26.]
GRAND ARMY OF FASHION. DISPA 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 Arniy 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, Bognor, Ramsgate, Margate, &c. &c. They consisied principally of the flanking corps, with some heavy artillery, of large calibre, from Leadenball 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 inade 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 cuinbrous scarlet gowns, velvet caps, and other embarrassing and feeble armour. When drawn up in battle array, they withstood the grape and cannister shol with firmness, and in many cases with obstinacy;