SONNET ON SEEING THE GRAVE OF AN UNFORTUNATE GIRL. A PASSING sigh is due to every bier ; Yet he who came with mournful ditties vain, For one, alas! whom sore remorse has slain, Of some that like the flowers in ripe decline, POPULAR LITERATURE OF 1824. AMONG the most profitable speculations of this year, may be reckoned Sayings and Doings by Theodore Hook, and the Tales of a Traveller by Washington Irving. The publisher of the former of these very popular works is said to have paid £800. for the copyright. As sketches of men and manners, and of the philosophy of every-day life, they are inimitable; Mr. Irving may be said to have laid the foundation of his fame by his Sketch Book and Bracebridge-Hall, and in his department he is without a rival. He may be deemed the Goldsmith of the present day. Sir Walter Scott, who may now be said to have passed the zenith of his glory: he writes periodically. It must always be gratifying to intelligent minds to see genius thus liberally rewarded; but it would be doubly grateful, were writings of more acknowledged soundness and decided utility patronized with greater zeal. Life is but short, and with this maxim before us the improvement of the mind should certainly take precedence in li terature: but the public ordain it otherwise. Be this as it may, mere works of imagination will never stand the test of time, because all pleasure sickens by repetition. Philosophy will at length prevail in spite of these meretricious allurements, and conduct us to her refreshing springs, whence flow exhaustless instruction and infinite delight. For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight; HAIL, pure Religion! sacred science! Teach me to bid the world defiance; Fix my faith in the reality Of judgement, heav'n, and hell. Nor are thy documents mysterious, Each party arrogates thy presence; Nor organs, chantings, elocution, Nor consecration, absolution, Pope. Nor art thou election, reprobation, Nor supernum'rary prostrations, To give a summ'ry of thy beauties, No round thou art of useless duties, In praise, thanksgiving, and deploring The last, in treating all as brothers; Doing sincerely unto others As we'd be done unto. This is the Law and Prophets join'd, Who has Religion thus defined, AIR was thy blossom, tender flower, Had opened on the dawn of morn! How oft above thy lowly bed, When all in silence slumbered low, The fond and filial tear was sbed, Thou child of love, of shame, and woe! Her wronged, but gentle, bosom burned, O'er recollection wandered wild. In peace thy morning hymn to sing! NO. III: D |