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loveliness, and to it, interesting in itself, but now tenfold interesting to me for those who sleep in it, we steered our boats in silence and sorrow. The water was so shallow at the entrance, where it flowed over some low rocks, that we were obliged to step out on one of them, and bear in our arms the, remains of the unhappy ones. Seyton stood on a small and projecting point of one of the rocks, while two of the boatmen were knee-deep in the water, endeavouring to make the boat fast to the rocks; when they had succeeded sufficiently for our purpose, I gently raised the still beautiful form of Isabel and placed her in the arms of Seyton, who was waiting to receive her-in doing so I could not but pause a moment, and look for the last time on one whose fate was as unhappy as her face was lovely. Her dark eyes were closed under thin, long, and soft lashes, and her lips slightly parted, there had been, some minutes before, a faint expression of pain on her beautiful features, but it was now wholly faded away, at least it seemed to me to have entirely vanished, and, as the settled coldness of death stole over her, I imagined that her face, now cold as marble, assumed the same sweet and pensive expression, which the romantic Falkland admired and loved so much in her. I enveloped the pale form in

a military cloak of him whom she had loved in life, and placed her in the arms of Seyton, who was standing on the rock to receive her from me. He immediately passed on without uttering a syllable, and myself followed his tall and dark figure as he passed from rock to rock in the dimness of that midnight hour, and then moved, with his hapless burthen, slowly along the sands, to the innermost part of the inlet, where gently placing it upon the bank, he returned and assisted me in carrying Falkland to the same lonely place; all our men followed, and, as we stood for some minutes looking at all that remained of these unhappy lovers, as they slept their sleep of death, we could not refrain from giving way to the rush of feeling, which so melancholy an occasion excited in us all. We soon heaped a large quantity of sand and earth upon the grave, and rolling two large stones to mark the spot, looked on it for the last time, and returned to our boat. There, in that spot of undisturbed and everlasting loneliness, we laid them side by side, the same grave receiving them: the same military cloak enveloped them as their shroud, the same moss covers their narrow beds, and they, whose hearts were united in their lives, were now not divided in their deaths.

RENE.

WIDOWHOOD.-A SONNET.

How wretched is that face, and yet how fair!
A face that might unnerve the arm of Fate,
So softly sad, so fondly desolate,

So full of loveliness and of despair!
They rose upon the earth, a radiant pair ;-

His beam is quench'd near lifetime's eastern gate, And round her noon untimely shadows waitHer heart is in the grave-its choice is thereThus in the vernal freshness of a grove,

Where to new sunshine Nature's children turn, One plant, that all her glory fails to move, Weeps back upon some white sepulchral urn, And gazes o'er it with despairing love,

Watching the dead, and satisfied to mourn.

ADVENA.

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Huc vina, et unguenta, et nimiùm brevis
Flores amonos ferre jube rosa,

Dum res, et ætas, et sororum
Fila trium patiuntur atra.

Cedes coemptis saltibus, et domo,
Villâque flavus quam Tiberis lavit:
Cedes; et exstructis in altum
Divitiis potietur hæres.

Divesne, prisco natus ab Inacho,
Nil interest, an pauper, et infimâ
De gente, sub divo moreris,
Victima nil miserantis Orci.

Omnes eodem cogimur: omnium
Versatur urna; seriùs ociùs

Sors exitura, et nos in æternum
Exilium impositura cymbæ.

TO DELLIUS.

Firm be thy soul! serene in power,
When adverse fortune clouds the sky;
Undazzled by the triumph's hour,
Since, Dellius, thou must die!

Alike, if still to grief resign'd;
Or if through festal days 'tis thine,
To quaff, in grassy haunts reclin'd,
The old Falernian wine :

Haunts, where the silvery poplar-boughs
Love with the pines to blend on high,
And some clear fountain brightly flows
In graceful windings by.

There be the rose, with beauty fraught
So soon to fade, so brilliant now;
There be the wine, the odours brought,
While time and fate allow !

For thou, resigning to thine heir,

Thy halls, thy bowers, thy treasur'd store, Must leave that home, these woodlands fair, On yellow Tyber's shore."

What then avails it, should'st thou trace
From Inachus thy glorious line?

Or, sprung from some ignoble race,
If not a roof be thine?

Since the dread lot for all must leap
Forth from the dark revolving urn,
And we must cross the gloomy deep
Whence exiles ne'er return.

LIB. III. CARMEN XIII.

AD FONTEM BANDUSIUM,

O Fons Bandusiæ, splendidior vitro,
Dulci digne mero non sine floribus,
Cras donaberis hædo,

Cui frons turgida cornibus

Primis, et venerem et prælia destinat :
Frustrá; nam gelidos inficiet tibi
Rubro sanguine rivos

Lascivi soboles gregis.

Te flagrantis atrox hora Caniculæ
Nescit tangere: tu frigus amabile
Fessis vomere tauris

Præbes et pecori vago.

Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium,
Me dicente cavis impositam ilicem
Saxis unde loquaces
Lymphæ desiliunt tuæ.

TO THE FOUNT OF BANDUSIA.

Oh, worthy fragrant gifts of flowers and wine,
Bandusian Fount, than crystal far more bright!
To-morrow shall a sportive kid be thine,

Whose forehead swells with horns of infant might :
E'en now of love and war he dreams in vain,
Doom'd with his blood thy gelid wave to stain,

Let the red dog-star burn! his scorching beam,
Fierce in resplendence, shall molest not thee!
Still sheltered from his rage, thy banks, fair stream,
To the wild flock around thee wandering free;
And the tir'd oxen from the furrow'd field,
The genial freshness of their breath shall yield.

And thou, bright Fount! ennobled and renown'd,
Shalt by thy poet's votive song be made;
Thou and the oak with deathless verdure crown'd,
Whose boughs, a pendant canopy, o'ershade
Those hollow rocks, whence, murmuring many a tale,
Thy chiming waters pour upon the vale.

BETA

ENGLAND IN 1819 AND IRELAND IN 1833.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE,

SIR-A strong feeling of indignation seems to be entertained by many of the laity, respecting the apathy with which the Protestant Clergy appear to view the Church Reform Bill lately introduced by Lord Althorp, the provisions of which seem so injurious, if not destructive, to the property and existence of the establishment. What! (say they,) will the clergy submit without a murmur to this unparallelled spoliation, and thereby justify the allegations, and (as far as they are concerned) aid in carrying into effect the menaces of their enemies? Does not even the silence they have observed, since the announcement of the bill, give some colour to the charge-that the wretched condition of the peasantry of Ireland is mainly attributable to their exactions, and that to compel them to disgorge part of their unjust gains is but an act of strict, though tardy justice? Now, nothing can be more unreasonable than this remonstrance; and (though meant in a spirit of friendship) it but adds insult to injury. What can the clergy do? During the last ten or fifteen years, the press has teemed with the most unanswerable statements respecting the real facts of the case; arguments have been refuted; mistakes corrected; falsehoods exposed, all to no purpose. In reply to the unfounded statement, that it is to the Protestant Establishment the disturbances in Ireland are to be attributed; those disturbances have been traced up to the first period of their commencement. viz.: about the middle of the last century-for Captain Rock, (though he may not have arrived at the age of discretion,) is no stripling; and though he may acknowledge, in the words of the Patriarch, that "the days of the years of his life have been evil," he certainly cannot say that they "have been few." Those disturbances have been proved, never to have originated from the exorbitant demands of the clergy, but from causes more deeply

affecting the comforts and condition of the peasantry, viz.: the enclosing of commons, turning out the old tenantry in order to throw many small farms into one; abuses about road making; exorbitant cess and rents; wages of labour; charges for potato ground; rent for bog, &c. &c. It is true, that in the progress of outrage, the clergy (from the very defenceless nature of their property, and the thousand inroads of fraud and violence to which it was exposed,) suffered considerably, but that their demands were either the originaling cause of those disturbances or the principal means of their continuance has been over and over disproved. But what good has resulted from all this? "Who shames a scribbler,"

"Destroy his fib, or sophistry in vain,

The creature's at his dirty work again.” There are persons who still affect to believe, that the misery of the pea santry is chiefly attributable to the exactions of the clergy. The income of that body has been lately submitted to the most rigorous parliamentary enquiry, and the result has been a very proud, but (as it now appears) a very useless triumph to the clergy. It has been not merely an acquittal of such charges, but a generally expressed astonishment at the audacity that could have advanced them. Still, all to no purpose. The very mover of this bill of pains and penalties, ushers in his propositions by an acknowledgment of the monstrous exaggerations that have prevailed with regard to the income of the clergy, and then (by way of a sophisma fallacis consequentia) tacks to this very acknowledgment a proposition for inflicting upon them an amount of taxation, quite unequalled by any thing we have hitherto witnessed, even in the most frightful period of the late war. What then are the clergy to do in such a case? There was a time when appealing to a British House of Com

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