ELEGY, WRITTEN ON LEITH HILL. LO! gently rising from the eastern hills, And labouring swains upturn the yielding ground. Now here and there, a cottage dimly seen, Thro' clustering trees doth catch the wandering eye; And all seems calm and silent in the vale, Their bulky fronts, in majesty and pride; Can man behold this prospect, and be still No!-like the grey mist, mantling o'er the hill, Behold yon peasant, as he leaves his cot, And calm, unwearied, humbleness of life. But Hope will flatter, and the fond heart cling And hope will fade, and memory plant its sting, And shews him what a phantom he has pressed. LINES PROSPERO. By the Hon. G. Tucker, of Virginia. DAYS of my youth! ye have glided away; Hairs of my youth! ye are frosted and grey; Eyes of my youth! your keen sight is no more; Cheeks of my youth! ye are furrowed all o'er; Strength of my youth! all your vigour is gone; Thoughts of my youth! your gay visions are flown! Days of my youth! I wish not your recal; 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 you been; Thoughts of my youth! ye have led me astray; Strength of my youth! why lament your decay? Days of my age! ye will shortly be past; Pain of my age! but a while can ye last; Joys of my age! in true wisdom delight; Eyes of my age! be religion your light; Thoughts of my age! dread not the cold sod; Hopes of my age! be ye fixt on your God! LINES, FROM THE SPANISH. WARM be my gear, And let folks jeer! To ruling states let others turn, For conquests and for kingdoms burn; But let my humble mouth be burning A dram, or jug of good strong beer! From golden vase let princes eat, 'Midst thousand fears, the pampering treat; And taste of Care's all-bittering pill, 'Tis gilded, but 'tis bitter still. The store my board is wont to bear And while the hills and mountains grow, Then be my smiling hearth well stored, Let merchants, and I wish them joy, Leander haply could delight To stem the waves at dead of night, To ford yon stream so bright and clear; For love, the cruel little knave To Pyramus and Thisbe gave, And joined them both, but joined them dead; And used my tooth for a rapier; And let folks jeer! PEDRO. EMUINCH ECNUIC, OR NED OF THE HILLS.* ""Tis I, 'tis Edmund of the Hills, My sorrows and thy charms I've sung. In many a spiry ringlet plays. "Oh! come then, rich in all thy charms, For, Eva, I'm as rich in love; And safe within my circling arms, I'll bear thee to old Thuar's+ grove." A. V. The hero of this, and many other national ballads, was the chief or captain of one of those numerous banditti which infested Ireland during that period when religious animosities and civil discord involved its unfortunate natives in all the horrors of anarchy and warfare. The accounts which are given of Emuinch Ecnuic are various and improbable; but that most current, and most consonant to truth, sketches him as an outlawed gentleman, whose confiscated lands and forfeited life animated him to the desperate resolution of heading a band of robbers, and committing many acts of desperation; which were frequently counteracted by a generosity almost romantic, or supported by a spirit almost heroic. A warrior and a poet, his soul was "often brightened by the song;" and Eva, the daughter of a northern chieftain, was at once his inspiration and his theme. + A mountain in Ulster, county of Armagh. A TRIP TO RICHMOND. A Burlesque Heroic. NOW six times had the clapper of St. Paul A signal for the cits to ope their eyes. The morn was beauteous" and more fair than that," Now down majestic Thames the wherry glides, The inspiring Muse, for here begins my tale. Now to my tale,-not far from famed Le Bow, And each betakes him to his different oar. "Tis she who prompts, whilst I the feather trace. Westminster Bridge has heard their splashing oar, Now by St. Stephen's Hall they gently wind, And famed Vauxhall will hear their voice no more, For on their stern they've left it far behind. |