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COMI OSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSE IRE.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
myrtle, And watch the clouds, that late were rich with
light, Slow-saddening round, and mark the star of eve Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world 80
hush'd! Hark! the still murmur of the distant sea Tells us of silence ! And th' Eolian lute, How by the desultory breeze caress'd, Like some coy maid half-yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! and now its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of soundMethinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world like this, Where e'en the breezes of the simple air Possess the power and spirit of melody!
And thus, my love! as on the midway slope
A MOTHER'S GRATITUDE-RUSILLA.
Good Father, I have heard From my old faithful servant and true friend, T'hou did'st reprove the inconsiderate tongue, That in the anguish of its spirit pour'd A curse upon my poor unhappy child. 0, Father Maccabee, this is a hard world, And hasty in its judgments! Time has been, When not a tongue within the Pyrenees Dared whisper in dispraise of Roderick's name, Lest if the conscious air had caught the sound T'he vengeance of the honest multitude Should fall upon the traitorous head, or brand For life-long infamy the lying lips. Now if a voice be raised in his behalf, 'Tis noted for a wonder, and the man Who utters the strange speech shall be admired For such excess of Christian charity. Thy Christian charity hath not been lost; Father, I feel its virtue :-it hath been Halm to my heart :-with words and grateful tears, All that is left me now for gratitude, I thank thee, and beseech thee in thy prayers That thou wilt still remember Roderick's name
BUILD UP A COLUMN TO BOLIVAR !
BY BARRY CORNWALL.
Build up a column to Bolivar!
Shout till Columbia's woods awaken
Till pity, and praise, and great disdain,
A MONARCH'S GRATITUDE.--SAR.
Stay a moment, my good Salamenes, My brother, my best subject, better prince Than I am king. You should have been the
monarch, And I-I know not what, and care not; but Think not I am insensible to all Thine honest wisdom, and thy rough, yet kind, Though oft reproving, sufferance of my follies. If I have spared these men against thy counsel, That is, their lives it is not that I doubt The advice was sound; but let them live: we will
not Cavil about their lives—so let them mend them. Their banishment will leave me still sound sleep, Which their death had not left me.