"Yes, ye who gasp'd near Ismael's * tower, "The victims of unhallow'd power; Or, ye who by the Dwina's stream, "Beneath oppression's banner fell, "Whose death-bell was the widow's scream, "And mailed conquest's' vaunting yell, "Now, o'er her fall, pour triumph's strain. "And thout, whose too-forgiving heart, "Gor'd by rancour's venom'd dart, "Oft has felt her harpy fang "Arm with fresh poignancy each pang, "Head, head the immolated train: "In night's wan noon, and murky glare, "With anguish'd mien, with wounds all bare, "Dance yelling round her gore cemented tomb; "Swell, swell the grave's impervious gloom; "Chase her cold sleep with wildest screams of woe; "Bid the vengeful torments glow; "And mark, in characters of blood, the vile assassin's "doom." 4. THE sun to mortals is the source of light: ETONENSIS. * The fortress of Ismael was taken by the Russians, after a continued siege of seven months; the last assault alone cost the lives of 15,000 men. + Peter III. her husband. A PARAPHRASE ON THE FIRST AND SECOND VERSES OF THE 14TH CHAPTER OF THE BOOK OF JOB. WRITTEN BY DR. RUSSELL, ON THE DEATH OF AN ONLY SON. I. WHEN now the destin❜d period run II. Swift fly the hours, the days, the years, Thus, at the dawn of genial day, The gilded flow'r from earth's soft womb Comes smiling forth, in rich array, And glads all nature with its bloom. IV. But, ah! ere evening shadows rise, And shrinks to earth's soft womb again. EVENING BELLS. GLIMMERS now each silvery star, From the steeple in the vale. "Does a gentle passion, pure, 'Twas not love. Too long the maid, On his cheek life's sunset glow T. K. C. THE TEAR. PLEDGE of sorrow, seal of pleasure, Speaking silence, dumb confession, Dew from heaven, affection's bliss, Gem of feeling, artless tear! WHISTON BRISTOW. THE PRAISES OF ITALY; VIRGIL'S GEORGICS, BOOK II. VERSE 109. A metrical Exercise on the compressive Energy of the English Language, being translated into Rhyme, line for line. BY A. S. THELWALL. Not every soil produces every tree. In shores, the myrtle; hills expos'd to light, Have different woods: the Indian realms, dispense Why speak of odorous shrubs, that load the breeze |