How oft, in their course over oceans unknown, Hath their spirit been cheered by thy light, when the deep As the vision that rose to the Lord of the world,* And to me, as I traverse the world of the west, Shine on! my own land is a far distant spot, And the eyes which I love, though e'en now they may be But thou to my thoughts art a pure blazing shrine, And my soul, as an eagle exulting and free, WITH A WHITE ROSE, FROM A LOVER OF THE HOUSE OF YORK то If this pale rose offend thy sight, Go place it in thy bosom fair, And turn Lancastrian there. Alluding to the Vision of Constantine the Great. R HIS STANZAS. BY J. H. REYNOLDS, ESQ. -And muttered, lost! lost! lost!' SIR W. SCOTT, BART. "Tis vain to grieve for what is past, My own mad hand the die hath cast, "Tis vain to grieve-I now can leave The dreadful silence of this night The sweetest fate have I laid waste All that was beautiful and chaste, For me seemed set apart; But I was fashioned to defy Such treasure, so set richly by. How could I give up HER, whose eyes For many a day-when thoughts would rise, Of all my vices!-Memory sees Her eyes' divine remonstrances. A wild and wretched choice was mine, A life of low delight; The midnight rounds of noise and wine, The bitter jest, the wearied glee, To those who plunged me in the throng Who led me by low craft along, When midnight finds me torn apart The cold, still, madness of the heart My love is lost;-my studies marred; My friends disgraced and changed; My thoughts all scattered and impaired; My relatives estranged; Yet can I not by day recall My ruined Spirit from its thrall. Peter Corcoran's Memoirs. EPITAPH. SHE lived;-what further can be said She died ;-what more can be foretold Of all the living, young or old? She lived with death before her eye, As one who did not fear to die; Her dust is here her spirit there- BY J. RICHARDSON, ESQ. THERE's hardly motion in the air, The clouds in fleecy fragments lie, Loved scene of many a youthful dream, And led my raptured soul along.- Thoughts of woe, and thoughts of pleasure? 'Tis, that, once more, thy scenes can give Times that in memory hardly live, And youth again, with angel smile, English Minstrelsy. THINGS TO COME. BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY. THERE are murmurs on the deep, There are thunders on the heaven; Though the ocean billows sleep, Though no cloud the sign has given; Earth that sudden storm shall feel, "Tis a storm of man and steel. Tribes are in their forests now, War of old has swept the world, Man hath shed Man's blood for toys, Love and hatred, fame and gold; Now, a mightier wrath destroys; Earth in cureless crime grows old; Past destruction shall be tame To the rushing of that flame. When the clouds of Vengeance break, Frenzy shall be on the weak, And the worse than Pagan sword |