"Twas sweet as violet-breathing gale, 'Twas soothing as the moon's faint beam, 'Twas tender as the ring-dove's tale,— -Alas! and was it but a dream?
Methought I saw him once again,
Again I listen'd to his voice;
It calm'd the tumults of my brain,
It made my throbbing heart rejoice.
O! with what eager, keen delight
I trac'd a form distinct and clear, That cheated my enraptured sight, With the blest thought that he was near.
Love still was weeping in his eyes,
As first the little traitor stole,
Conceal'd in Pity's soft disguise,
To pierce and agonize my soul.
Upon his cheek the lingering tear
Told me in absence he was true;
And that pale cheek was far more dear
Than had it glow'd with Joy's bright hue.
His glistening eyes long fix'd on me,
A thousand tender hopes impart;
For such the looks 'twas heaven to see,
When first he sought and won my heart.
Methought they bade my sorrows cease,
And charm'd despondence from my breast;
Methought they promis'd joy and peace,
And for a moment I was blest.
But ah! too soon I wake and weep!
Too soon the hated morning beam
Dispels the phantasies of sleep!-
Alas! and was it but a dream!
BY THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.
THE laughing Zephyr thus the Storm addrest: "Relent, fierce foe, and calm thy angry breast; "On every breath bewitching odours bring,
Whisper voluptuous secrets to the Spring,
"Kiss the soft rose, amidst the lilies play,
"And hail the dawn, and greet the close of day-
"Like me be blest." "Like thee!" the tempest said;
"My pride is havoc, and my joy is dread!
"With blasts of terror I infect the air,
"Destroy the hamlet, and the village tear!
"Begone, fond Hope, at my approach begone,
"Unalterable Nature drives me on.",
A STATUE OF THE LATE DUKE OF BEDFORD.
BY THE RIGHT HON. RICHARD FITZPATRICK.
HERE let no symbols of destructive war,
No blood-stain'd conqueror's triumphal car,
No sculptur'd trophies, to the pensive mind,
Retrace the miseries of human kind;
Where happier emblems celebrate his worth
Who liv'd, not to despoil, but bless the earth!
With anxious care, and deep research to scan
That first of sciences-the GOOD OF MAN;
To cherish CULTURE's progress thro' the land;
Stretch forth to INDUSTRY a fost'ring hand;
To feel, on principles severely just,
In rank pre-eminent, a sacred trust;
To prize in riches but their power
Reward to MERIT and relief to WANT;
Praise of such high desert, say, who shall claim? And, hark! a nation's voice re-echoes-RUSSELL'S
How, tho' the annals of their country, shine
The unfading honours of his patriot line!
Disastrous days of civil strife they saw,
When vaulting POWER o'erleap'd the bounds of law:
Their temp'rate wisdom strove, alas! in vain,
Those threat'ning flames of DiscORD to contain,
Which soon blaz'd forth:-the Fiend's infernal brand
Spread devastation thro' the fated land;
And PEACE, from ALBION's mangled bosom driven,
With virtuous BEDFORD, wing'd her way to heaven.
Again, when POWER's unquench'd, and quenchless
thirst,
The sacred boundaries of RIGHT had burst,
Another RUSSELL Freedom's champion stood,
Nor spar'd for her, nor wish'd to spare, his blood;
But died, Oh, victim of perverted laws!
An unrepining martyr in her cause.
Far happier thou! Thy more auspicious day,
Of lawful Rulers own'd the chasten'd sway;
Who, on the downfal of a Tyrant's throne,
Had fix'd the just foundation of their own.
But, ah! too soon was veil'd in endless night
The accomplish'd promise of a dawn so bright.
All-ruling Power! by whose mysterious doom
LIFE's fleeting tenants sink into the tomb,
With lavish NATURE's richest gifts adorn'd,
Still must a RUSSELL be belov'd and mourn'd.
Cease, fond complaint! tho' man's precarious
breath
Yield, unresisting, to the shaft of DEATH,
The lasting good a PATRIOT's cares achieve,
The sigh which millions o'er his ashes heave,
The bright example of that generous mind,
Whose godlike impulse was to serve mankind,
Bequests to unborn ages shall remain,
And mark-that VIRTUE HAS NOT LIV'D IN VAIN.
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she might be ;
Her sails from Heav'n receiv'd no motion-
Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without either sign, or sound of their shock,
The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock :
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
The Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had floated that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On the waves of the storm it floated and swung,
And louder, and louder, it warning rung.
When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And bless'd the Priest of Aberbrothok.
The sun, in heav'n, shone so gay-
All things were joyful on that day:
The sea birds scream'd, as they sported round,
And there was pleasure in their sound..
|