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Of dark illusions blot his

upper skies,

Yet, as they change, through that incumbent gloom
Shall he catch glimpses of the hallowed mount,
And weep that heaven is bright.-And at the hour
Of stillness, when e'en frightful shadows fade,
When night seems closing o'er his latest hopes,
And his sun set for ever,-then, behold,
Emerging in mid heaven, thy glistening top
Oh, Zion! and the God that ruled his day
Hath not departed; for he poureth now
His radiance on thy summits, glancing back
A thrilling flood into his servant's soul!
'Joy full of glory !'-Was the noon-day dark?
It was; but eve is cloudless; night is peace;
Rapture shall gild the never-ending morn!
Sheffield Iris.

S.

ODE,

WRITTEN FOR RECITATION AT THE FAREWELL DINNER IN HONOUR OF JOHN KEMBLE, ESQ.

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.

PRIDE of the British stage,

A long and last adieu!

Whose image brought the heroic age
Revived to Fancy's view;

Like fields refreshed with dewy light,
When the sun smiles his last,

Thy parting presence makes more bright

Our memory of the past;

And memory conjures feelings up,

That wine or music need not swell,

As high we lift the festal cup
To 'Kemble, fare-thee-well!'

His was the spell o'er hearts
Which only acting lends,
The youngest of the sister arts,
Where all their beauty blends :
For ill can Poetry express

Full many a tone of thought sublime,
And Painting, mute and motionless,
Steals but one glance from Time;
But, by the mighty actor brought,
Illusion's wedded triumphs come,
Verse ceases to be airy thought,
And Sculpture to be dumb.

Time may again revive,

But ne'er efface the charm,
When Cato spoke in him alive,
Or Hotspur kindled warm.
What soul was not resigned entire
To the deep sorrows of the Moor?
What English heart was not on fire
With him at Agincourt?

And yet a majesty possessed

His transport's most impetuous tone;

And to each passion of his breast

The Graces gave their zone.

High was the task, too high

Ye conscious bosoms here,
In words to paint your memory,

Of KEMBLE, and of Lear.

But who forgets that white discrowned head,

Those bursts of Reason's half extinguished glare,

Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed,

In doubt, more touching than despair;

If 'twas reality he felt

Had SHAKSPEARE's self amidst you been,

Friends, he had seen you melt,

And triumphed to have seen!

And there was many an hour

Of blended kindred fame,

When SIDDON's auxiliar power,
And sister magic came;—
Together at the Muse's side,

Her tragic paragons had grown;--
They were the children of her pride,
The columns of her throne!
And undivided favour ran,

From heart to heart, in their applause Save for the gallantry of man,

In lovelier woman's cause.

Fair as some classic dome,
Robust and richly graced,
Your Kemble's spirit was the home
Of genius and of taste.
Taste, like the silent dial's power,
That when supernal light is given,
Can measure inspiration's hour,
And tell its height in heaven.
At once ennobled and correct,

His mind surveyed the tragic page,
And what the actor could effect,
The scholar could presage.

These were his traits of worth;-
And must we lose them now!

And shall the scene no more show forth
His sternly pleasing brow?

Alas! the moral brings a tear,-
'Tis all a transient hour below;
And we that would detain thee here,

Ourselves as fleetly go.

Yet shall our latest age

This parting scene renew:

Pride of the British stage!
A long and last adieu!

Literary Gazette.

THE LAST TEAR.

SHE had done weeping, but her eyelash yet
Lay silken heavy on her lilied cheek,
And on its fringe a tear, like a lone star
Shining upon the rich and hyacinth skirts
O' the western cloud that veils the April even.
The veil rose up, and with it rose the star,
Glittering above the gleam of tender blue,

That widened as the shower clears off from heaven.
Her beauty woke,-a sudden beam of soul
Flashed from her eye, and lit the vestal's cheek
Into one crimson, and exhaled the tear.

Literary Gazette.

ADDRESS

TO THE ALABASTER SARCOPHAGUS, DEPOSITED IN THE

BRITISH MUSEUM.

BY HORACE SMITH, ESQ.

THOU Alabaster relic! while I hold

My hand upon thy sculptured margin thrown, Let me recall the scenes thou couldst unfold,

Might'st thou relate the changes thou hast known; For thou wert primitive in thy formation,

Launched from the Almighty's hand at the creation.

Yes-thou wert present when the stars and skies
And worlds unnumbered rolled into their places;
When God from chaos bade the spheres arise,
And fixed the blazing sun upon its basis,
And with his finger on the bounds of space
Marked out each planet's everlasting race.

How many thousand ages from thy birth

Thou slept'st in darkness it were vain to ask, Till Egypt's sons upheaved thee from the earth, And year by year pursued their patient task, Till thou wert carved and decorated thus, Worthy to be a king's sarcophagus!

What time Elijah to the skies ascended,
Or David reigned in holy Palestine,

Some ancient Theban monarch was extended
Beneath the lid of this emblazoned shrine,
And to that subterraneous palace borne
Which toiling ages in the rock had worn.

Thebes, from her hundred portals, filled the plain,
To see the car on which thou wert upheld.
What funeral pomps extended in thy train,

What banners waved, what mighty music swelled, As armies, priests, and crowds bewailed in chorus, Their King-their God—their Serapis—their Orus!

Thus to thy second quarry did they trust

Thee, and the lord of all the nations round, Grim king of silence! Monarch of the dust! Embalmed, anointed, jewelled, sceptered, crowned, Here did he lie in state, cold, stiff and stark, A leathern Pharaoh grinning in the dark.

Thus ages rolled; but their dissolving breath
Could only blacken that imprisoned thing,
Which wore a ghastly royalty in death,
As if it struggled still to be a king;
And each dissolving century, like the last,
Just dropped its dust upon thy lid, and passed.

The Persian conqueror o'er Egypt poured
His devastating host-a motley crew;

The steel-clad horseman,-the barbarian horde,
Music and men of every sound and hue,
Priests, archers, eunuchs, concubines, and brutes,—
Gongs, trumpets, cymbals, dulcimers, and lutes.

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