LINES, WRITTEN BY THE SEA SIDE. BY WILLIAM JERDAN, ESQ. HASTINGS, upon thy coast I stood,- And Fancy, how thou turn'st my brain! Mark ye that plumy-crested surge, Upon the sand that gentle wave And tuneful force, a moment's joy, The next succeeding wave destroy. Wearing and splashing through these rocks, Whose adamant the struggle mocks; In eddies whirled, in deep chasms lost, And billows rise, and billows break : All worldlings these, who ceaseless boil Die off the granite's reckless side; How sweetly these round billows rise, They swell but soon subside, and where No matter where they froth or flow. Far off a hoary head I view, Ah, spirit's emblem! can it be, But one faint struggle more, and he Shall seek Heaven's element, like thee? How blest, if so; for lo the gale, The tempest sweeps, the drear winds pierce Ah me! my dream of WAVES is o'er ; And new each shape in, on, the main- Forgotten, traceless, vanished. And Man, whence springs thy senseless pride? "Tis but a CENTURY or a TIDE? Literary Gazette. COMPARISON. THE lake lay hid in mist, and to the sand Came sparkling on, in many a gladsome band, For, on that dim and melancholy strand, I saw the image of Man's destiny, Where, like the worthless billows in their glee, O Thou who weighest the waters in thine hand, Blackwood's Magazine. ON A NEW-MADE GRAVE, NEAR BOLTON PRIORY. SWEET be thy rest! near holy shrine A grave of blessedness is thine, More rich than piles of sculptured clay. For softly on these peaceful knolls And none are here but those who come Or feed in Bolton's holy gloom Sweet memories of a distant home. Sweet be thy rest!—the toils and woes And breathed upon the sacred ground. Those cliffs where purple shadows creep, The stream scarce gleaming through the dell, These giant groves that guard its sleep, The crosier's place, the altar-stone, The shrine, the mitred Abbot's niche, And sweets from vagrant roses shed. Changed to a bounteous Baron's hall, His gateway greets the wandering guest, And only on its arrased wall The frowning warrior lifts his crest. Where by a lonely taper's light The cowled and captive bigot knelt, Now summer-suns beam cheerly bright, And evening's softest shadows melt. Where once the yelling torrent's jaws Then trusts her light foot to the wave. Emblem of passion's changeful tide! The flood that wrecked the heedless boy In after years is taught to glide Through sheltering bowers of social joy. For such a tomb of sweets and flowers, But far from thee shall be the torch Of frantic mirth and impious rite; A Christian Hafiz guards the porch, And decks the Garden of Delight. And only kindred hearts can bear The smiling peace that slumbers here; None but the pure in spirit dare Gaze on a scene to heaven so near. European Magazine. |