A face that holds no lure,-no tribute seeks,Demands no homage,-nothing strange bespeaks ;— That looks as hundreds looked that they have known, Just marked enough to call some name its own. O, few in folly's course can check their speed, The simple lines of character to read! Or if they pause, the rude unfeeling eye, The cold enquiry-contumelious sigh, And all the world's gross pity can impart, Are caustic to the festers of the heart. Leeds Intelligencer. EL HYPONDRIACO. BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY. Go to thy rest, thou sullen Sun, While Night, long Night, remains behind. All that I loved, my pencil, pen, That stole the time on downy wings, Where is thy balm of care, O Sleep, Now, if a slumber on me creep, I plunge in ocean,-shoot through air,- New Times. M WRITTEN AT SPITHEAD. BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY. HARK to the knell! It comes in the swell Of the stormy ocean wave. "Tis no earthly sound, But a toll profound From the Mariner's deep sea grave. When the billows dash, And the signals flash, And the thunder is on the gale; And the Ocean is white In its own wild light, Deadly, and dismal, and pale; When the lightning's blaze Smites the seaman's gaze, And the sea rolls in fire and in foam; And the surges' roar Shakes the rocky shore, We hear the sea-knell come. There 'neath the billow, The sand their pillow, Ten thousand men lie low; And still their dirge Is sung by the surge, When the stormy night-winds blow. Sleep, warriors! sleep On your pillow deep In peace! for no mortal care No art can deceive, No anguish can heave The heart that once slumbers there. New Times. A NIGHT STORM, AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF SNOWDON. 'Tis eve! The sun's last rays are glimmering still On Snowdon's crested summit, and around His granite rocks flows the deep bosomed rill In solitude and loveliness. Its sound, As with an angel voice, of peace profound Whispers to Heaven; and see-the sultry fires Of day more faintly yon deep crags surround; Slowly even now each western beam retires,Fades,-lightens o'er the wave, and with a smile expires. Night, utter night succeeds.-Above-below Weighs heavy on my heart, the bird of night The note of woe is hushed; peace reigns around Heaven smiles on earth again-the glimmering star The clouds sail by in homage, and the night Welcomes her as a friend;-the heavenly train From pole to pole; while a full chorused strain Brightly she moves on in her loveliness! The fair-haired regent of the sky!-Her smiles Soothe the stern horrors of the scene, and bless Nature's calm slumber; o'er yon splintered piles Of beetling crags, how sweetly she beguiles Gloom of its frown; and, see! the glittering rill Heaves conscious of her presence, and reviles, With murmuring voice, yon proudly frowning hill, That scorns meek Dian's gaze, and mocks her gentle will. A sound rolls by of horror !-On the wind Of Heaven displays around its harrowing form!— Heard ye his chariot-wheels sweep echoing through the sky? He speaks! scared nature trembles at the sound; The mountain-rock tolls out the voice profound, Clashed with the night owl's scream, along the sky The night-breeze sails athwart the sky-the thunder His deathless might, and wrathfully careers And now he sinks in softness, and anon She walks in beauty forth, with all her starry train. Chester Chronicle. SONNET, COMPOSED ON THE SEA COAST. W. F. D. BY S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. O! IT is pleasant, with a heart at ease, Own each strange likeness issuing from the mould And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold From mount to mount o'er CLOUDLAND,-gorgeous land! Or listening to the tide with closed sight, Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand, By those deep sounds possessed with inward light, Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea! Blackwood's Magazine. |