Among the lonely knolls her heart sobbed out its pain, The one who next appeared, a tattered bible bore, The next who came to taunt, a piece of money showed, And you therefore slid this coin among others that were bright; Tormented thus and stung by a many a bitter word, 'The last,' he cries, 'is false !' and starts and grasps his sword. Around on every side his furious strokes he plies, Among their flitting shapes, among their glaring eyes; But laughing, at his rage, on sooty wings they fled, And a new rattling shower assailed his heather-bed. Blackwood's Magazine. LOVE. NAY, pray thee, let me weep, for tears I'll I'll weep his smiles, for first they taught Literary Gazette. STANZAS WRITTEN BY THE SEA SIDE. ONE evening as the Sun went down, And such a blaze o'er ocean spread, I was not lonely ;-dwellings fair Of children, wild with reckless glee, And on the sea, that looked of gold, The breezy murmur from the shore,- Alike by sire and child, The whistle shrill, the broken song,— I looked, I listened, and the spell So radiant on my heart, That scarcely durst I really deem Lest dream-like, it depart. 'Twas sunset in the world around;- Nor grief, nor mirth, were burning there, But moods like these, the human mind, But though all pleasures take their flight, This sunset, that dull night will shade,— For me, when far from here! Literary Gazette. M. J. J. IMPROMPTU TO LADY HOLLAND ON NAPOLEON'S LEGACY OF A SNUFF BOX. BY THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. GIFT of the Hero, on his dying day, To her, whose pity watched, for ever nigh; Oh! could he see the proud, the happy ray, This relic lights up on her generous eye, Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay A friendship all his kingdoms could not buy. Animula vagula, blandula, O THOU wondrous arch of azure, By their dread magnificence!— O ye keen and gusty mountains, On whose marge I loved to lie! All the charms that earth discloses, O ye birds, whose matin chorus O domestic ties endearing, Which still chain my soul to earth! O ye friends, whose converse cheering Winged the hours with social mirth! Songs of gladness, chasing sadness, Wine's delight without its madness, Must I must I from ye fly, Yes! I now fulfil the fiction Air, inhale my parting breath! Yet, perhaps, when all is ended, And the grave dissolves my frame, While my disembodied spirit Near the mighty bards of yore; Never, never to disssever, But to dwell in bliss for ever, Tuning an enthusiast lyre To that high and laureled quire. London Magazine. H. IMITATION OF A GREEK EPIGRAM. I MOURN not those who have already left Life the sweet light of life-and life's pure breath :But, oh, I mourn their state, of Hope bereft, Who, living, pine in hourly dread of death, And dying live;-and supplicate the gift Of added years to deck their wintry wreath Of hoary honours ;-and when years are given, Then pray for more-to make their peace with heaven! |