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On the Death of Henry Kirke White.

MASTER SO early of the various lyre,

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Energic, pure, sublime!' Thus art thou gone, In its bright dawn of fame that spirit flown Which breathed such sweetness, tenderness, and Wert thou but shown to win us to admire [fire! And veil in death thy splendour?-But unknown Their destination who least time have shone And brightest beam'd! When these the 'Eternal Sire -Righteous and wise and good are all his ways— Eclipses, as their sun begins to rise,

Can mortal judge, for their diminished days What bless'd equivalent in changeless skies, What sacred glory waits them? His the praise: Gracious, whate'er he gives; whate'er denies.

CAPEL LOFFT.

SWIFT flew the bounding bark along the tide, Whose emerald waters flash'd in snowy spray Beneath the keel; the seabirds that beside

Now rose, now fell, o'er the deep ocean way Still floated with our course: the sun from high Shone sparkling in blue ether, and the gale, That with fresh breath came whispering pleasantly, Swell'd full the swanlike bosom of the sail: But oh! when, skirting the round seas, the shore Of ancient liberty emerged to view;

That scenery calm and beautiful no more

Was heeded; but so strong impatience grew In every limb, methought the deck moved slow, And the reluctant wind had ceased to blow.

C. A. ELTON.

BENEATH these beetling cliffs, from age to age Immovable, whose ramparts have withstood The thunder's shivering stroke, and the white rage Of ocean, rolling its incessant flood,

I sit; and on the verge of azure sky

Trace the far sail; or mark the seagull glide Above the shadow'd sands; or tranquilly [tide: Watch the slow breeze rippling the dark blue Here man is then himself: I feel thee now, Exalting Independence! who could rest Beneath this giant rock's o'ervaulting brow, Lengthening in shadow on the billow's breast; Could gaze yon boundless amplitude of sea, Yon marble space of air, and not be free?

C. A. ELTON.

BLESS'D be the Spring's return: for as I pass These hedge-rows, where the verdure-budding

gem

Studs the brown spray, and under tufts of grass The primrose, sweetly pallid, clothes the stem, Sensation keenly feels the balmy power

Gladdening the pulse of life: there is no tree Whose gradual greenness tips the boughs, nor flower

Whose bell the dewdrop holds, but yields to me Anticipated joy: oh heavenly sweet

Illusion! that the blank world-wearied breast Can for a moment from itself retreat

To outward pleasantness, and be at rest! A fresh existence from the sunny air

Steals through the brighten'd eyes, for hope is

there.

VOL. III,

C. A. ELTON.

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LATELY at afternoon, the sun hot-shining, Flush'd with the grape, and in poetics deep; On a soft sofa carelessly reclining,

Tuning new sonnets, lo! I dropp'd asleep. Through the vine-bower'd windows then inclining, My mistress from the garden chanced to peep; And left her lilies with the heat repining,

On tiptoe to my cool recess to creep.

She read the verse for her sweet self intended: We must, indeed, she said, those lips salute, Which blushingly do use such modest suit, That maiden meekness cannot be offended:

She kiss'd, I waked-how eloquently mute Her eyes, her blushes the sweet fault defended.

LEFTLY.

To W. Lovell, Esq. singing to Purcell's Music.
WHILE my young cheek retains its youthful hues
And I have many friends who hold me dear,
Lovell, methinks I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine; lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress
For which my miserable brethren weep.
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at Death's dread moment I should lie
With no beloved face by my bed-side
To fix the last glance of my closing eye;

O God, such strains breathed by my angel-guide Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,

Mix with the bless'd, nor know that I had died.

ANONYMOUS.

MALVERN, thy beetling cliffs, that pierce the cloud,
Majestic rise. With patient step and slow
We mount, and shudder at the gulf below.
Full on the sight romantic visions crowd;
Knoll above knoll uprears its knotty brow;
While tints of tender or luxuriant green

On the slope vale's enamel'd bosom glow;
And smiling harvests float in gold between.

Of Cambria's hills we trace the shadowy height, Ken tapering spires half dipp'd in azure sky:

While with gay wreaths, and fleecy blossoms Pomona sings her fragrant vintage nigh. [dight, Inhale, ye languid nymphs, this genial air; Taste the pure lymph, and feel that health is there.

ANONYMOUS.

On Lord Nelson.

I ASK'D of Time what gallant feats must claim
(Maugre his biting sithe and idle rage)
Proud station, blazed on history's glowing page?
Sullen he scowls, and would efface the name;
But as the fiend his hoary wings upbore
I spied Trafalgar's peak and rocky shore.
I ask'd of Atè, who her ravenous maw
Had gorged most with carnage, wreck, and spoil?
Who best had loved his giant course of toil

To run? whose pendant gave old Ocean law? Came forth a voice- What boots it this to know? My shaft's unerring barb, in yonder fight,

Pierced through this living tower of patriot might;

Ask you his name? Go read a nation's woe.'

ANONYMOUS.

To an Oak blown down by the Wind.

THOU who, unmoved, hast heard the whirlwind chide

Full many a winter round thy craggy bed; And, like an earthborn giant, hast outspread Thy hundred arms and heaven's own bolt defied, Now liest along thy native mountain's side Uptorn; yet deem not that I come to shed The idle drops of pity o'er thy head, Or basely to insult thy blasted pride:

No-still 'tis thine, though fallen, imperial Oak! To teach this lesson to the wise and brave,

That 'tis much better, overthrown and broke In Freedom's cause, to sink into the grave,

Than, in submission to a tyrant's yoke, Like the vile reed, to bow and be a slave.

ANONYMOUS.

END OF VOL. III.

C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.

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