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'Twas thine to animate her closing eye; 1 The beauteous maid, who bids the world Alas! 'twas thine perchance the first to die,
adieu, Crushed by her meagre hand, when welcomed Oft of that world will snatch a fond review;
from the sky Oft at the shrine neglect her beads, to trace Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow Some social scene, some dear, familiar face:
And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper-bell Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. Bursts thro' the cypress-walk, the conventO'er thymy downs she bends her busy course,
cell, And many a stream allures her to its source. Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive, "Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely To love and joy still treiublingly alive;
The whisper'd vow, the chaste carese prolong, Beyond the search of sense, the soar of Weave the light dance, and swell the choral thought,
song; Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind ; With rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade, Its orb so full, its vision so confined ! And, as it melts along the moonlight-glade, Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell? To each soft note return as soft a sigh, Who bids her soul with conscious triumph And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly.
But not till Time has calmed the ruffled With conscious trnth retrace the mazy clue
breast, of varied scents, that charmed her as she Are these fond dreams of happiness confest.
Not till the rushing winds forget to rave, Hail, MEMORY, hail! thy universal reign Is heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave. Guards the least link of being's glorious chain. From Guinea's coast pursue the lessening
The racks of thought and freezings of despair!
But pause not then- beyond the western SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale,
wave, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, Go, view the captive bartered as a slave! To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours, Crush'd till his high, heroic spirit bleeds, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher And from his nerveless frame indignantly flowers.
recedes. Ages and climes remote to Thee impart Yet here, even here, with pleasures long What charms in Genius, and refines in Art;
resigned, Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science Lo! Memory bursts the twilight of the mind :
Her dear delusions soothe his sinking soul, The pepsive portress of her holy cell; When the rude scourge assumes its base Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp
control; Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp. And o'er Futurity's blank page diffuse The friends of Reason, and the guides of The full reflection of her vivid hues.
"Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more, Whose language breathed the eloquence of Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore;
Beneath his plantain's ancient shade, renew Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, The simple transports that with freedom flew;
Catch the cool breeze that musky evening Thegreat in conduct and the pare in thought;
blowe, These still exist, by Thee to Fame consigned, And quaff the palm's rich nectar as it glows; Still speak and act, the models of mankind. The oral tale of elder time rehearse, From Thee sweet Hope her airy colouring And chant the rude, traditionary verse;
With those the loved companions of his youth, And Fancy's flights are subject to thy laws. When life was luxury, and friendship truth. From Thee that bosom-spring of rapture Ah! why should Virtue fear the frowns flows,
of Fate? Which only Virtue, tranquil Virtue, knows. Hers what no wealth can buy, no power WhenJoy's bright sun has shed his evening
create ! ray,
A little world of clear and cloudless day, And Ilope's delusive meteors cense to play: Nor wrecked by storms, nor mouldered by When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect
A world, with MEMORY's ceaseless sunshine Still thro' the gloom thy star serenely glows:
blest, Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of The home of Happiness, an honest breast.
But most we mark the wonders of her reign, With the mild magic of reflected light, I WhenSleep has locked the senses in her chain,
When soberJudgment has his throne resigned, But the fond fool, when evening shades the
Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span! She is the sacred guest! the immortal friend!! Ah! who can tell the triumphs of the Oft seen o'er sleeping Innocence to bend,
mind, In that dead hour of night to Silence given, By truth illumined, and by taste refined ? Whispering seraphic visions of her heaven. When Age has quenched the eye and closed When the blithe son of Savoy, journeying
the ear, round
Still nerved for action in her native sphere, With humble wares and pipe of merry Oft will she rise--with searching glance sound,
pursue From his green vale and sheltered cabin hies, Some long-loved image vanished from her And scales the Alps to visit foreign skies :
view; Tho' far below the forked lightnings play, Dart thro' the deep recesses of the past, And at his feet the thunder dies away, O'er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast; Oft, in the saddle rudely rocked to sleep, With giant grasp fling back the folds of night, While his mule browses on the dizzy steep, And snatch the faithless fugitive to light. With MEMORY's aid, he sits at home, and So thro' the grove the impatient inother sees
flies, His children sport beneath their native trees, Each gunless glade,cach secret pathway tries; And bends, to hear their cherub-voices call, Till the thin leaves the truant boy disclose, O'er the lond fury of the torrent's fall. Long on the wood-moss stretched in sweet But can her smile with gloomy Madness
Nor yet to pleasing objects are confined Say, can she chase the horrors of his cell? The silent feasts of the reflecting mind. Each fiery flight on Frenzy's wing restrain, Danger and death a dread delight inspire; And mould the coinage of the fevered brain? And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire, Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam When, richly bronzed by many a summer-sun,
He counts his scars, and tells what deeds There in the dust the wreck of Genins lies!
were done. He, whose arresting hand sublimely wrought Go, with old Thames, view Chelsea's Each bold conception in the sphere of thought;
glorions pile; And round, in colours of the rainbow, threw And ask the shatter'd hero, whence his smile? Forms ever fair, creations ever new!
Go, view the splendid domes of Greenwich.go, But, as he fondly snatched the wreath of And own what raptures from reflection flow.
Hail, noblest structures imaged in the wave! The spectre Poverty unnerved his frame. A nation's grateful tribute to the brave. Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she Hail! blest retreats from war and shipwreck, wore;
hail! And Hope's soft energies were felt no more. That oft arrest the wondering stranger's sail. Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art! Long have ye heard the narratives of age, From the rude wall what bright ideas start! The battle's havoc, and the tempest's rage; Even now be claims the amaranthine wreath, Long have ye known Reflection's genial ray With scenes that glow, with images that Gild the calm close of Valour's various day.
Time's sombrous touches soon correct the And whence these scenes, these images,
Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease; Whence but from Her who triumphs o'er A softer tone of light pervades the whole, | despair?
And steals a pensive langnor o'er the soul. Awake.arise! with grateful fervor fraught, Hast thou thro' Eden's wild-wood-rales Go, spring the mine of elevating thought. He,who, thro’ Nature's various walk, surveys Each mountain-scene, majestically rude; The good and fair her faultless line portrays; | To note the sweet simplicity of life, Whose mind, profaned by no unhallowed Far from the din of Folly's idle strife:
Nor, there awhile, with lifted eye, revered Culls from the crowd the purest and the best; That modest stone which pious PEMBROKE May range, at will, bright Fancy's golden
reared ; clime,
Which still records, beyond the pencil's Or,musing.mount where Sciencesits sublime,
power, Or wake the Spirit of departed Time. | The silent sorrows of a parting-hour; Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral Muse, Still to the musing pilgrim points the place, A blooming Eden in his life reviews! Her sainted spirit most delights to trace ? So rich the culture, tho' so small the space, | Thus with the manly glow of honest pride. Its scanty limits he forgets to trace: | O'er his dead son the gallant ORMOND sighed.
Thus, through the gloom of Shenstone's | Light as the breeze that brushed the orient fairy-grove,
dew, Maria's urn still breathes the voice of love. From rock, to rock the young Adventurer As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower
few; Awes us less deeply in its morning-hour, And day's last sunshine slept along the shore, Than when the shades of Time serenely fall When, lo! a path the smile of welcome wore. On every broken arch and ivied wall; Imbowering shrubs with verdure veiled the The tender images we love to trace,
sky, Steal from each year a melancholy grace! And on the musk-rose shed a decper dye; And as the sparks of social love expand, Save when a bright and momentary gleam As the heart opens in a foreign land, Glanced from the white foam of some And with a brother's warmth, a brother's
sheltered stream. sinile,
O'er the still lake the bell of evening tolled, The stranger greets cach native of his isle: And on the moor the shepherd penned his fold; So scenes of life, when present and confest, And on the green hill's side the meteor played; Stamp but their bolder features on the breast; When, hark! a voice sung sweetly thro' Yet not an image, when remotely viewed,
the shade. However trivial, and however rude, It ceas'd-- yet still in Florto's fancy sung, But wins the heart, and wakes the social Still on each note his captive spirit hung;
Till o'er the mead a cool sequestered grot With every claim of close affinity!
From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot. But these pure joys the world can never A crystal water crossed the pebbled floor, know;
And on the front these simple lines it bore: In gentler climes their silver currents flow. Hence away, nor dare intrude! Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day, In this secret, shadowy cell When the hushed grove has sung its parting Musing MEMORY loves to dwell,
With her sister Solitude. When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car, Far from the busy world she flies, Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star; To taste that peace the world denies. Above, below, aerial murmurs swell,
Entranced she sits from youth to age, From hanging wood, brown heath, and/ Reviewing Life's eventful page;
And noting, ere they fade away, A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light, The little lines of yesterday. Stealing soft music on the ear of night. Florio had gaind a rude and rocky scat, So ost the finer movements of the soul, | When lo, the Genius of this still retreat! That shun the sphere of Pleasure's gay Fair was her form--but who can hope to trace
The pensive softness of her angel-face? In the still shades of calm Seclusion rise, Can VIRGIL's verse, can RAPHAEL's touch And breathe their sweet, seraphic harmonies.
impart Once, and domestic annals tell the time, Those finer features of the feeling heart, (Preserved in Cumbria's rude,romantic clime) Those tenderer tints that shun the careless When Nature smiled, and o'er the landscape
And in the world's contagious climate die? Her richest fragrance and her brightest hue, She left the cave, nor marked the stranger A blithe and blooming Forester explored
there; Those loftier scenes SALVATOR's soul adored ; Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air, The rocky pass half hung with shaggy wood, Had breathed a soft enchantment o'er his soul; And the cleft oak fung boldly o'er the flood; In every nerve he felt her blest control! Nor shunned the track, unknown to human What pure and white-wing'd agents of the tread,
sky, That downward to the night of caverns led Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy, Some ancient cataract's deserted bed. Informi congenial spirits when they meet?
High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose, Sweet is their office, as their nature sweet! And blew his shrill blast o'er perennial snows; Florio, with fearful joy, pursued the maid, Ere the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar, Till through a vista's moonlight-ehequered Gazed on the tumbling tide of dread Lodoar;
shade, And through the rifted cliffs, that scaled Where the bat circled, and the rooks reposed,
| (Their wars suspended and their councils Derwent's clear mirror charmed his dazzled
An antique mansion burst in awful state, Each osier-isle, inverted on the wave, A richi vine clustering round the Gothic gate. Thro' morn's gray mist its melting colours Nor paused he there. The master of the scene
Saw his ligbt step imprint the dewy green; And, o'er the cygnet's haunt, the mantling Apd, slow-advancing, hailed him as his guest,
Won by the honest warmth his looks exIts emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove.
He wore the rustic manners of a Squire; Her sense had fled!- Exhausted by the storm, Age had not quenched one spark of manly fire; A fatal trance hung o'er her pallid form; But giant Gout had bound him in her chain, Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired; And his heart panted for the chase in vain. 'Twas life's last spark-it fluttered and exYet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing
The father strewed his white hairs in the Winged with delight Confinement's lingering
Called on his child-nor lingered long behind: The fox's brush still emulous to wear, And FLORIO lived to see the willow wave, He scoured the county in his elbow-chair; With many an evening-whisper, o'er their And, with view-halloo, roused the dreaming
Yes, Florio lived-and, still of each possessid, That rung, by starts, his deep-toned music The father cherished, and the maid caressed!
For ever would the fond enthusiast rove, Long by the paddock's humble pale confin’d, With Julia's spirit thro’the shadowy grove; His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind : Gaze with delight on every scene she planned, And each, with glowing energy portrayed, Kiss every flowret planted by her hand. The far-fam'd triumphs of the field displayed; Ah! still he traced her steps along the glade, Usurped the canvas of the crowded hall, When hazy hues and glimmering lights And chased a line of heroes from the wall.
betrayed There slept the horn each jocund echo knew, Half - viewless forms; still listened as the And many a smile and many a story drew!
breeze High o'er the hearth his forest-trophies hung, Heaved its deep sobs among the aged trees; And their fantastic branches wildly flung. And at each pause her melting accents caught, How would he dwell on the vast antlers there! In sweet delirium of romantic thought! These dashed the wave, those fanned the Dear was the grot that shunned the blaze mountain-air.
of day; All,as they frowned, unwritten records bore She gave its spars to shoot a trembling ray. Of gallant feats and festivals of yore. The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell,
But why the tale prolong?–His only child, Murmured of Julia's virtues as it fell; His darling Julia on the stranger smiled. And o’er the dripping moss, the fretted stone, Her little arts a fretful sire to please, InFlorio's ear breathed language not its own. Her gentle gaiety, and native ease,
Her charm around the enchantress MEMORY Had won his soul: and rapturous Fancy shed
threw, Her golden lights and tints of rosy red; A charm that soothes the mind and sweetens But, ah! few days had passed ere the bright|
too! vision fled!
But is Her magic only felt below? When Evening tinged the lake's ethereal Say, thro' what brighter realms she bids blue,
it flow; And her deep shades irregularly threw; To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere, Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove, She yields delight but faintly imaged here: Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove: All that till now their rapt researches knew, Whence erst the chanted hymn, the tapered Not called in slow succession to review;
But, as a landscape meets the eye of day, Amused the fisher's solitary night;
At once presented to their glad survey! And still the mitred window, richly wreathed, Each scene of bliss revealed, since chaos A sacred calm thro' the brown foliage
| And dawning light its dazzling glories spread; The wild deer,starting thro’the silent glade, Each chain of wonders that sublimely glowed, With fearful gaze their various course Since first Creation's choral anthem flowed;
Each ready flight, at Mercy's smile divine. High hung in air the hoary goat reclined, To distant worlds that undiscovered shine ; His streaming beard the sport of every wind; Full on her tablet flings its living rays. And, while the coot her jet-wing loved to lave, And all,combined, with blest effulgence blaze. Rocked on the bosom of the sleepless wave; There thy bright train, immortal FriendThe engle rushed from Skiddaw's purple crest,
ship, soar; A clond still brooding o'er her giant-nest. No more to part, to mingle tears no more! And now the moon had dimmed, with dewy And, as the softening hand of time endears - ray,
The joys and sorrows of our infant years. The few, fine flushes of departing day; So there the soul,released from human strife, O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung, Smiles at the little cares and illx of life; And her broad lights on every mountain flung; | Its lights and shades, its sunshine and its When, lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew,
showers; And to the surge consigned its little crew. Asnt a dream that charmed her vacant hours! All, all escaped-but cre the lover bore 1 Oft may the spirits of the dead descend. Hin faint and faded JuLia to the shore, To watch the silent slumbers of a friend ;
To hover round his evening-walk unseen, I Memory makes her influence known And hold sweet converse on the dusky green; By sighs, and tears, and grief alone: To hail the spot where first their friend- I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong
| The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's And heaven and nature opened to their view!
funeral song. Oft, when he trims his cheerful hearth,and sees A smiling circle emulous to please ; She tells of time mispent, of comfort lost, There may these gentle guests delight to of fair occasions gone for ever by;
Of hopes too fondly nursed, too rudely crossed, And bless the scene they loved in life so well ! | Of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die; Oh thou! with whom my heart was wont For what, except th' instinctive fear to share,
Lest she survive, detains me here, From Reason's dawn, each pleasure and each When all the life of life is fled ?care ;
What, but the deep inherent dread, With whom, alas! I fondly hoped to know Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign, The humble walks of happiness below; And realize the hell that priests and beldams If thy blest nature now unites above
NO TE .
When a traveller, who was surveying the ruins Whose blameless wishes never aimed to rise, of Rome, expressed a desire to possess some relic To meet the changes Time and Chance present
of its ancient grandeur, Poussin, who attended
him, stooped down, and, gathering up a handful With modest dignity and calm content.
of earth shining with small grains of porphyry, When thy last breath,ere Nature sunk to rest, “Take this home," said he, "for your cabinet ; and Thy meek submission to thy God expressed; say boldly, Questa e Roma Antica." When thy last look, ere thought and feeling
Sweet bird ! thy truth shall HARLEM's walls attest
(p. 392. A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; During the siege of Harlem, when that city was What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, reduced to the last extremity, and on the point of Its hope in death, its triumph over the grave?
opening its gates to a base and barbarous enemy,
a design was formed to relieve it; and the intelThe sweet remembrance of unblemished ligence was conveyed to the citizens hy a letter
which was tied under the wing of a pigeon. The The inspiring voice of Innocence and Truth! | same messenger was employed at the siege of MuHail, Memory, hail! in thy exhaustless mine
tina, as we are informed by the elder Pliny. From age to age unnumber'd treasures shine!
These still e.rist, &c.
(p. 393. Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, There is a future Existence even in this world, And Place and Time are subiect to thy sway! an Existence in the hearts and minds of those who
shall live after us. It is in reserve for every man, Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone; however obscure; and his portion, if he be diligent, The only pleasures we can call our own. must be equal to his desires. For in whose reLighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, membrance can we wish to hold a place, but such If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky;
as know, and are known by us? These are within
the sphere of our influence, and among these and If but a beam of sober Reason play,
their descendants we may live evermore. Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away! But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power,
Hast thou thro' Eden's wild-rood-vales pursued
(p. 394. Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour ?
On the road-side between Penrith and Appleby These, when the trembling spirit wings her there stands a small pillar with this inscription :
“This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Pour round her path a stream of living light;
Countess Dowager of Pembroke, for a memorial of
her last parting, in this place, with her good and And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, pious mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager of Where Virtue triumphs and her sons are blest. Cumberland, on th• 2d of April, 1616; in memory
whereof she hath left an annuity of 41. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham,
every 2d day of April for ever, upon the stoneThe following stanzas are said to have been written
table placed hard by. Laus Deo!"" on a blank leaf of this Poem. They present an
The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, affecting reverse of the picture.
and rises in the wildest part of Westmoreland.
O'er his dead son the gallant ORMOND sighed. Pleasures of Memory!-oh supremely blest,
(p. 395. And justly proud beyond a Poet's praise; Ormond bore the loss with patience and dignity:
though he ever retained a pleas however mcIf the pure confines of thy tranquil breast thoug
lancholy, sense of the signal merit of Ogsory. I Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays!
subject of thy lays' would not exchange my dead son, said he, for any By me how envied !--for to me
living son in Christendom. HUME, VI. 310. The herald still of misery,