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Painted by George Haytee Member of the Academies of Rome. Elorence. Bologno. Patuna Venice

TE DE ATELJE TE FIFT BOEN.

FISHER, SON. &

CO LONDON, 1834

THE IMPERIAL MAGAZINE,

AUGUST, 1834.

THE DEATH OF THE FIRST - BORN.

(With an Engraving.)

The day's last glance is on thy stately walls,
O Memphis, queen of strength, and gently sweeps
The breeze, yet lingering o'er the crested reeds,
Whose broad and rustling leaves, entangled, shade
Old Nile's majestic waters, pacing dark
Beside their palmy aisles, in quiet might,
And murmuring soft as childhood in its sleep.
The slowly wading ibis, deep in dew,
Has sought its nest beneath the pendent flower
Of lotus inly crimsoned ; and the west,
Yet flushed and streaked with brightness, faintly shews
The crescent moon, as one with vigil pale,
Pursuing sunset o'er the distant sea.
There is a sound of music on the wave,
The strains of choral multitudes, with voice
Of cittern, and the cymbal's silvery ring,
And cornet's note, whose plainings scarce repeats
Lone echo from her cave, as loud the hymn
Ascends to her, the spouse of strength and light,
The mystic Isis, goddess-mother-bride,-
Blest by the teeming earth, and hoary deep,
Beneath whose gentle smile, grey-vested Peace
Steals as a shadow; from her mantled breast
Dispensing rest and silence, and the frame
Of vast creation slumbers, and is still.

1

A change has passed across the brow of night,
Veiled in her mid career; the blast has risen
In stern unequal fits, and, curling white,
The excited river quickens into speed.
The tempest's ranks are gathering, cloud on cloud,
Voluminous—a dun inverted sea,
Surcharged with thunder-through whose yawning rifts,
The wild Anubis, with malific fire,
Beams fiercely down upon his imaged shrine
Of granite block and column,—redly shines

Deep Mæris, studded with the trembling lights 2D. SERIES, NO. 44.--VOL iv.

188,- VOL. XVI.

2 Y

Which waver yet on battlement and tower;
And the slant pyramid stands wrapt in shades
Substantial darkness—but upon that steep
And terraced height, hath One come dimly forth,
Whose limbs impalpable, and fearful brow,
No human womb hath moulded; vast he sits,
A child of night, and loving best her hour,
To smite unseen and fiercest, and from far
Looks down and listens as a hound, which, crouched
’Neath evening brakes, awaits the rushing deer.

The babe is slumbering at his mother's side,
With glowing cheek, and lips, whose rosy tint
Is brightened by their smile :-the warrior lies
Beneath his sparkling lance, and shield uphung,
Victor in thought upon that reeded plain,
Swept by the Bactrian; or beside the woods,
Where, stream of olden fame, Hydaspes speeds
Through many a fruitful realm, and land of light,
His orient waters rolling; and, with locks
Circled by gems, beside the lambent flame
Which hovers o'er the golden cresset's rim,
The maiden on her couch of Tyrian hue,
Is imaging in dreams the joys of morn.
Approach and gaze:—it is no common rest
Which binds those rigid lids :—that flush of sleep
Is strangely permanent-and, lo! the breast
Still heaving, while its resident beneath
Directs the vital fountain's play, is still :
Nor starts the form to motion, though, without
The storm's first deafening peal has shook the tower
From parapet to base—and deeply blue
The glimmering lightning through the lattice darts
In forked play. No marvel : earth may shake
Her fellest, and the elemental war
With tenfold license revel; but the ear
Regards it not, nor shall the eye perceive
of thousands, gathered to that icy trance,
Whose sullen bonds no force may break, till rent
Once and for ever by the call of doom.

A wail is rising through the hollow night,
A cry of bitter agony; lament,
Choked in its utterance, groans of wordless grief,
And ravings, wrung by madness from despair.
An ocean rising at the whirlwind's sweep,
The city pours her ghastly inmates forth,
With locks which stream unbound, and hands which bear
The torch upraised in fruitless search of aid ;
And lights are glancing from the massive halls,
Where grim basaltic forms keep stately watch
Beside a regal gate, and one on high
Sits in pale majesty, a sceptred king
Bowed in his anguish--for before him lies

The perished in his comeliness, and near
The ministers of parted justice stand,
The frowning prophets of a hateful seed.
But wrath has slender fellowship with tears,
And vengeance near the calm and awful dead
Resides not; so, as solemn winds, which bow
The fast unrobing forest, chill and dark,
When autumn's passing shower has overblown,
Amidst the hush of multitudes, convened
In troubled groups by one compelling dread,
Is heard the voice which sets the Hebrew free.

“ I was a father-when the sun of eve
“ Beheld these walls not shunned by joy or hope,'
“ And midnight sees me childless. Be it so,
“ I have not learned to bend, though worn in heart,
“And pierced by many sorrows; but, for these
“ The shrinking crowds, expecting in their fear
“ The fate it seems your secret arts can bring,
“ Thus saith the Ruler to his Thrall,-Go forth
“ And stay the wounds of Egypt; nor accursed
“ Leave this death-shadowed land, and race bereaved,
“ For wherefore strive we longer ?-Bitter war
“ Hath been between us, and the strength which yields
“ Oft in its turn proved victor--that is past,
“ And he who seeks for gods as foes, may

learn
“ How feebly power shall aid his soaring will.
“ Earth is before you-hasten—east or west,
“ We reck not, so that morning's breaking light,

(Morn to our eyes abhorred) with earliest beams

Beholds your travel.--Evil was the day,
“ On which your sires, a race of weakness, came,
“ To call the shadow of our walls their home,
“ And evil is the parting unto all;

Ye, in vain quest, sent forth to meet the vast
“ And howling desert, waiting to avenge
“ The cause we render to her gaunt redress;
“ And we, who dreamed that we had homes of peace,
“ And children sporting at our hearths, awoke
“ To know our dwellings desolate-Away!"-

J. F. HOLLINGS.

ORATORY.

PULPIT

young ladies of their vicinity, place them (Concluded from p. 321.)

in a sanctuary where they are rarely inIn prosecuting our inquiry into the causes vaded. The class to which we refer, bas of the inefficiency of preaching, and in been 'portrayed to the life by Mr. Foster, observing, for this purpose, the principal in his essay “ on the Aversion of Men of schools into which those who exercise the Taste to Evangelical Religion.” We feel office of the ministry may be divided, our that no apology is necessary for conveying notice is arrested by a considerable class, our opinions in the eloquent language of upon whom it requires no small degree of this extraordinary man:courage to animadvert. The ready admi. « There is a smaller class,” says he, ration of the ever-shifting throng of triflers " that might be called mock - eloquent to be found in every city, and more espe

writers. These scorn the effect of brilliant cially the passionate attachment of the expression in those works of eloquence and

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