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The crowd, of which thou late wert one,
Now throng'd across thy burial-stone;
Rude footsteps trampled on the spot,
Where thou lay'st mould'ring and forgot;
And some few gentler bosoms wept,
In silence, where my brother slept.

I stood not by thy fev'rish bed,

I look'd not on thy glazing eye, Nor gently lulld thy aching head,

Nor view'd thy dying agony: I felt not what my parents felt,

The doubt the terror the distress
Nor vainly for my brother knelt

My soul was spar'd that wretchedness.
One sentence told me, in a breath,
My brother's illness and his death!

And days of mourning glided by.
And brought me back my gaiety;
For soon in childhood's wayward heart
Doth crush'd affection cease to smart.
Again I join'd the sportive crowd
Of boyish playmates, wild and loud;
I learnt to view with careless eye
My sable garb of misery;
No more I wept my brother's lot,
His image was almost forgot;
And ev'ry deeper shade of pain
Had vanish'd from my soul again.

The well-known morn, I used to greet

With boyhood's joy, at length was beaming, And thoughts of home and raptures sweet

In ev'ry eye, but mine, were gleaming; But I, amidst that youthful band

Of beating hearts and beaming eyes,
Nor smil'd nor spoke at joy's command,

Nor felt those wonted ecstasies :
I lov'd my home—but trembled now
To view my father's alter'd brow;
I fear’d to meet my mother's eye,
And hear her voice of agony;
I fear'd to view my native spot,
Where he who lov'd it-now was not.
The pleasures of my home were fled-
My brother slumber'd with the dead.

I drew near to my father's gate

No smiling faces met me now
I enter'd-all was desolate-

Grief sat upon my mother's brow :
I heard her, as she kiss'd me, sigh;
A tear stood in my father's

eye ;
My little brothers round me prest,
In gay unthinking childhood blest.
Long, long that hour has past, but when
Shall I forget its mournful scene?

The Sabbath came with mournful pace
I sought my brother's burial place-
That shrine, which when I last had view'd,
In vigour by my side he stood.
I gaz’d around with fearful eye-
All things reposed in sanctity.
I reach'd the chancel-nought was chang'da
The altar decently arrang'd-

The pure white cloth above the shrine
The consecrated bread and wine-
All was the same- I found no trace
Of sorrow in that holy place.
One hurried glance I downward gave
My foot was on my brother's grave !

And years have past--and thou art now

Forgotten in thy silent tombAnd cheerful is my mother's brow,

My father's eye has lost its gloom,
And years have past--and death has laid

Another victim by thy side;
With thee he roams, an infant shade,

But not more pure than thee he died.
Blest are ye both! your ashes rest
Beside the spot ye lov’d the best;
And that dear home, which saw your birth,
O’erlooks you in your bed of earth.
But who can tell what blissful shore
Your angel-spirits wander o'er ?
And who can tell what raptures high
Now bless your immortality!

My boyish days are nearly gone,

My breast is not unsullied now;
And worldly cares and woes will soon

Cut their deep furrows on my brową
And life will take a darker hue
From ills my Brother never knew.
And I have made me bosom friends,

And lov'd and link'd my heart with others; But who with mine his spirit blends,

As mine was blended with my brother's !

When years of rapture glided by,

The spring of life's unclouded weather,
Our souls were knit, and thou and I,

My brother, grew in love together.
The chain is broke which bound us then
When shall I find it's like again?

.M.

November, 1820.

Ε Τ Ο Ν Ι Α Ν.

No. II.

NOVEMBER, 1820.

Contents.

..105

The King of Clubs :

Mr Oakley's Essay on the Art of

saying “ No.”. Success of No. 1. - Opening of the

A Lapland Sacrifice

.111 Green Bag.–Mr Oakley's avowed

Ode to Despair ..

.113 Predilection for Tea.- Election of | Turn Out.......

....115 Sir Thomas Nesbit.— The Inaugura- | Letter from a Correspondent, containing tion Ceremony.- Mr Burton's Sonnet

a Description of the Miseries of Christon the Asses' Bridge.- Mr Burton's

mas Holidays in the Country. ....121 Proposed Epic.- Mr Burton's Mis

The Confession of Don Carlos (loosely behaviour productive of an Import- imitated from the Spanish).... ..127 ant Motion. — Future Prospects.- Solitude in a Crowd ..

.J29 Articles in Preparation. Thanks of Politeness and Politesse..

..134 the Club.- Alarming Discovery. 83 A Windsor Ball .....

,138 On Wordsworth's Poetry ...

99 Sir Thomas Nesbit's Definition of " YES AND No:

a

Good Fellow"

,144 Mr Lozell's Essay on the Art of say- Lovers' Vows

.147 ing " Yes.” ...105 Godiva, a Tale...

..149

mindsor: KNIGHT AND DREDGE, CASTLE-STREET. SOLD ALSO BY MR. WILLIAMS, AND MR. INGALTON, ETON ; AND BY

MR. WARREN, 19, OLD BOND-STREET, LONDON.

Price 2s.

CHARLES KNIGHT, PRINTER, CASTLE-STREET, WINDSOR,

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