STANZAS, TO THE MEMORY OF J. ATKINSON, ESQ. BY CHARLES PHILLIPS, ESQ. AUTHOR OF THE EMERALD ISLE," &c. [In our former volume we had the good fortune of publishing, for the first time, an epitaph, by the English Anacreon, for the tombstone in Cheadle church-yard, over the remains of J. Atkinson, Esq.; a gentleman to whom Mr. Moore dedicated his "Little's Poems," and whom he had characterised as one in whom the elements were so mixed, that neither in his head nor heart had nature left any deficiency." We have been also fortunate in obtaining the following poem, to the memory of this Mæcenas of Irish literature, from the pen of Mr. Phillips, the distinguished barrister. The lines are alike worthy of the subject and the writer.-Ed.] One shadow has pass'd, midst the thousands that glide From the pale of the earth, to the bourne of the grave; A spirit so gentle, that memory's tide May seldom again bear such worth on its wave! It hath pass'd-and the bard of the Bulbul can say Threw light on his hopes, and gave life to his lay, Oh! that heart was so kind, and that friendship so true, That, to know and to love, seem'd as link'd to each other: 'Twas as binding a chain as one heart ever threw, To wind round the love and the joys of another. That heart is now cold, and that friendship is hush'd- Oh! let gratitude rise from the humblest of those Who have known and respected what still is so dear And the genius, that now has arrived at its close, With regret be remember'd, and named with a tear. ; It hath pass'd-like the light of expiring day, TO AN INFANT. Smile, lovely infant, smile! Nor sooth my woe-fraught heart: Smile-smile, my cherub child! Enchants the very soul; Thou little reck'st of gath'ring woes, Smile yet, a parent's pet! Smile, smile, my charming boy! While innocence is thine! Then smile, lov'd infant, smile! REFLECTIONS ON INFANT INNOCENCE. "Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast, Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years." How calm and peaceful are the slumbers of infant years! How insensible of the cares, unconscious of the troubles which those of elder age are doomed to endure! That babe, on whom my eye now rests, thinks not of future times, when care and trouble will as surely haunt his path as life is prolonged; and when they will often cause him to indulge the wish, that heaven had never permitted him to live beyond the days of infancy. He imagines not how many bitter pangs will assail him, how many crosses he will meet with, how much fatigue he will be called on to suffer, before he quits this state of being for one more pure and happy. It fills me often with regret to see the days of infant innocence emerge in those of riper years ;-to view the loveliness, affection, and beauty of youth, lose themselves in the darkness, coldness, and formality of manhood. It grieves me to think of such a wreck of charms-of such a transformation of manners and feeling-of such a change of quietude and peace-for the bustle, and care, and anxiety of the world. It seems cruel that we should lose a happy state of insensibility, to obtain one of knowledge that can add nothing to our temporal happiness, and only make us feel of how little value is life, separate from the consideration that it is given us to prepare for the enjoyment of eternity. C. M. A. THE MEMORY OF JOYS THAT ARE PAST. BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS. WRITTEN AT THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE. There is a tear of sweet relief- THE MEMORY OF JOYS THAT ARE PAST. It is when memory charms the mind There is a strain-a plaintive strain, HOME SCENERY. The harvest scythe is on a sunny slope, To the dark verdure bank'd against the sky. A vision, meet to bless recurring thought, B. Y. 93 GENIUS AND TALENT. A man may possess talent without possessing a spark of genius. Talent is the power of exertion and acquisition, and of applying acquisition in a judicious and effective manner. Talent is cool-headed-genius is hot-headed; talent may be cold hearted-genius can never be other than warm hearted; talent is generally prudent-genius is often imprudent; talent moves steadily and regularly forward-genius springs on impetuously and lags indolently, by turns; talent forms just and rational speculations-the speculations of genius are often wild and fantastic chimeras. The feeling of talent is judg ment; the judgment of genius is feeling. Genius is proud and confident; talent is humble and unpretending. Talent constructed the lyre, while genius stood by and gave directions how the work should be done. Genius struck celestial melody from its chords; talent imitated the sounds, but soul and fire, and enthusiasm, were not in the strain. Talent chiseled the form of the Belvidere Apollo. Genius designed, and talent executed, the mighty plans of Napoleon. Talent is strong, but genius is both beautiful and strong. Talent influences our reason; genius influences both our reason and our feelings. The mind, in which both are united, makes the nearest approach to perfection; since the coolness of talent corrects the impetuosity of genius, and the conceptions of genius dignify the operations of talent. Genius, without talent, is a wild, and beautiful, and erratic meteor; talent, without genius, is a steady light, which lasts long, but never throws a flood of radiance upon earth or sky. Genius is generally in the extreme; talent is always in the mean. Talent is more earthly-genius more heavenly. THE WEARY PEASANT BOY. A SONG. BY PERCY NORTH. Have pity, heaven, have pity, pray, A wandering outcast, doom'd to stray, |