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She feels the delicate influence through her thrill,

And with seal'd eye lay in a giddy trance, Scarce dare she open them, when had her will

On this been bent, she felt the power to glance
Their lights on him. No, with a lingering skill

Oh, blame her not !-she did awhile enhance
The bliss of that revival, by a feign'd
Or half-feign'd show of conflict still sustain'd.

At last, she look'd!—They looked !-Eye met with eye!

The whole was told! The lover, and the lov'd, The ador'd, and the adorer, ecstasy

Never till then experienced-swiftly proved!
Thanks for his aid were a mean courtesy !

They were forgotten! Transport unreproved,
This was his guerdon; this his rich reward !
An hour's oblivion with Sophronia shared !

Then all the world was lost to them, in one

Fulness of unirnaginable bliss ! Infinity was with them! and the zone

Unbound whence Venus sheds upon a kiss Nectareous essences, and raptures known

Ne'er save to moments unprepar'd as this ! And in that earnest impulse did they find Peace and intensity, alike combin'd!

To frame such joy, these things are requisite;

A lofty nalure; the exalting stress Of stimulating trials; which requite,

And antecedent sorrows, doubly bless. Consummate sympathies, which spuis unite;

And a conjuncture, whence no longer press Impulses-long as these delights we proveFrom one thing foreign to the world of love.

This could not last! Not merely would a word ;

A gesture would, a look, dissolve the charm !-
Could home be mentiun'd nor the thought restor'd,

To her remembrance of Gisippus' warm
And manly love? Bless'd be ye with your hoard

Of transient bliss, and be ye safe from harm,
Ye fond, fond pair! But think not joys so high
Can be inwoven with reality!

At last a swift revulsion through her frame

And o'er her countenance stole: a sudden pause!

Her eyes, which had imbib'd a piercing flame,

Fell at once rayless ; and her bosom draws
One in.pent sigh; one look imploring came

O'er her fine face! Titus knew well the cause
Of this so sudden change: he dared not speak;
He dared not move; dared not its reason scek!

Some minutes they were silent. Night advanced ;

Titus towards himself, Sophronia press'd,
But dumb he stood; upward she faintly glanced

A look upbraiding, and upon his breast-
Gently reclining-lay like one entranced !

No longer was happiness her guest.
She starts! She cries “Gisippus !” all is told !
Cold fell the word, on bosoms still more cold !

They rose and crept along in silentness

Sophronia reach'd her home, but nothing said,
E'en to her mother, of her past distress.

Her threshold past not Titus-Thence he fled,
Soon as in safety he the maid did guess,

Like to a madman madden'd more with dread!
Nor ever of this night, or of its spell
Of mighty love, did he breathe a syllable!

We now take leave of Mr. Lloyd with peculiar gratitude - for the rich materials for thought with which a perusal of his poems has endowed us. We shall look for his next appearance before the public with anxiety ;-assured that his powers are not even yet fully developed to the world, and that he is destined to occupy a high station among the finest spirits of his age.


[New Monthly Magazine.]

MR. Editor. I trust that, even in this age of improvement you will suffer one of the oldest of the old school to occupy a small space in your pages. A few words respecting myself will, however, be necessary to apologize for my opinions. Once I was among the gayest and sprightliest of youthful aspirants for fame and fortune. Being a second son, I was bred to the bar, and pursued my studies with great vigour and eager hope, in the Middle Temple. I loved, too, one of the fairest of her sex, and was beloved in return. My toils were sweetened by the delightful hope that they would procure me an income sufficient for the creditable support of the mistress of my soul. Alas! at the very moment when the unlooked-for devise of a large estate from a distant relative gave me affluence, she for whom alone I desired wealth, sunk under the attack of a fever into the grave. Religion enabled me to bear her loss with firmness, but I determined, for her sake, ever to remain a bachelor. Although composed and tranquil, I felt myself unable to endure the forms, or to taste the pleasures of London. I retired to my estate in the country, where I have lived for almost forty years in the society of a maiden sister, happy if an old friend came for a few days to visit me, but chiefly delighting to cherish in silence the remembrance of my only love, and to anticipate the time when I shall be laid beside her. At last, a wish to settle an orphan nephew in my own profession, has compelled me to visit the scenes of my early days, and to mingle, for a short time, with the world. My resolution

once taken, I felt a melancholy pleasure in the expectation of seeing the places with which I was once familiar, and which were ever linked in my mind with sweet and blighted hope. Every change has been to me as a shock. I have looked at large on society too, and there I see little in brilliant innovation to admire. Returned at last to my own fire-side, I sit down to throw together a few thoughts on the new and boasted Improvements, over which I mourn. If I should seem too querulous, let it be remembered, that my own happy days are long past, and that recollection is the sole earthly joy which is left me. My old haunts have indeed suffered comparatively small mutation. The princely hall of the Middle Temple has the same venerable aspect as when, in my boyish days, I felt my heart beating with a strange feeling of mingled pride and reverence on becoming one of its members. The fountain yet plays among the old trees, which used to gladden my eye in spring for a few days with their tender green, to become so prematurely desolate. But the front of the Inner Temple hall, upon the terrace, is sadly altered for the worse. When I first knew it, the noble solidity of its appearance, especially of the figure over the gateway, cut massively in the stone, carried the mind back into the deep antiquity of the scene. Now the whole building is white-washed and plastered over, the majestic entrance supplied by an arch of pseudogothic, and a new library added at vast cost in the worst taste of the modern antique. The view from the garden is spoiled by that splendid nuisance, the Waterloo Bridge. Formerly we used to enjoy the enormous bend of the river, far fairer than the most marvellous work of art; and while our eyes dwelt on the placid mirror of water, our imagination went over it, through calm and majestic windings, into sweet rural scenes, and far inland bowers. Now the river appears only an oblong lake, and the feeling of the country once let into the town by that glorious avenue of crystal, is shut out by a noble piece of mere human workmanship ! But nature never changes, and some of her humble works are ever found to renew old feelings within us, notwithstanding the sportive changes of mortal fancy. The short grass of the Temple garden is the same as when forty years ago I was accustomed to refresh my weary eyes with its greenness. There

I have strolled again; and while Ibent my head downwards,
and fixed my eyes on the thin blades and the soft daisies, I
felt as I had felt when last I walked there—all between was
as nothing, or a feverish dream—and I once more dreamed
of the Seals, and of the living Sophia —I felt—but I dare
not trust myself on this subject farther.
The profession of the law is strangely altered since the
days of my youth. It was then surely more liberal, as well
as more rational, than I now find it. The business and
pleasure of a lawyer were not entirely separated, as at pre-
sent, when the first is mere toil, and the second lighter than
vanity. The old stout-hearted pleaders threw a jovial life
into their tremendous drudgeries, which almost rendered
them delightful. Wine did but open to them the most
curious intricacies of their art: they rose from it, like giants
refreshed, to grapple with the sternest difficulties, and re-
joiced in the encounter. Their powers caught a glow in the

severity of the struggle, almost like that arising from strong

exertion of the bodily frame. Nor did they disdain to enjoy the quaint jest, the far-fetched allusion, or the antique fancy, which sometimes craftily peeped out on them amidst their laborious researches. Poor T W was one of the last of the race. He was the heartiest and most romantic of special pleaders. Thrice happy was the attorney who could engage him to a steak or broiled fowl in the old coffee-room in Fleet-street, where I have often met him. How would he then dilate, in the warmth of his heart, on all his professional triumphs—now chuckling over the fall of a brother into a trap set artfully for him in the fair guise of liberal pleading —now whispering a joy past joy in a stumble of the Lord Chief Justice himself, among the filmy cords drawn about his path ! When the first bottle was despatched, arrived the time for his wary host to produce his papers in succession, to be drawn or settled by the joyous pleader. The welllauded inspiration of a poet is not more genuine than that with which he then was gifted. All his nice discernment— all his vast memory—all his skill in drawing analogies and discerning principles in the “great obscurity” of the Year Books—were set in rapid and unerring action. On he went —covering page after page, his pen “in giddy mazes running,” and his mind growing subtler and more acute with


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