Your stage-plays and your sonnets? your diamonds and your spades? Down! down! for ever down with the mitre and the crown! With the Belial of the Court, and the Mammon of the Pope! There is woe in Oxford halls, there is wail in Durham stalls; The Jesuit smites his bosom, the Bishop rends his cope. And she of the Seven Hills shall mourn her children's ills, And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England's sword; And the Kings of earth in fear shall tremble when they hear What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word! SIR HENRY TAYLOR. 1800-1886. [BORN in 1800; entered the colonial office in 1824, in which he has been for many years one of the five senior clerks; author of several volumes of dramas and essays, of which Philip Van Artevelde, a tragedy (1834), and Edwin the Fair, an historical drama (1842), are accounted his best works. A collected edition of his plays and poems was issued in 3 vols. in 1863.] LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON. 1802-1838. [BORN at Brompton, England, 1802; acquired considerable reputation by a number of poems published in the Literary Gazette over the signature "L. E. L.," by which she was thenceforth known. She soon became a regular contributor to the various literary journals and annuals, and for fifteen years supported her family by her pen. She published several volumes of poems and four novels, all of which were successful, many of them reprinted in the United States. In June, 1838, married to Mr. George Maclean, governor of Cape Coast Castle, West Africa, and accompanied him to that place, where she died Oct. 15, 1838.] CRESCENTIUS. I LOOK'D upon his brow-no sign He stood as proud by that death-shrine He had a power; in his eye The deadliest form that death could take, He stood, the fetters on his hand, And had that grasp been on the brand, The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, I saw him once before; he rode Of many a soldier's deed; But now he stood chain'd and alone, Came from that lip of pride; How many acts of kindness little heeded, Kind looks, kind words, rise half reproachful now! Hurried and anxious, my vex'd life has speeded, And memory wears a soft accusing brow. My friends, my absent friends! Do you think of me, as I think of you? The very stars are strangers, as I catch them Athwart the shadowy sails that swell above; I cannot hope that other eyes will watch them At the same moment with a mutual love. They shine not there, as here they now are shining; The very hours are changed. — Ah, do ye sleep? O'er each home pillow midnight is declining May some kind dream at least my Yet, o'er the waters is his rule trans mitted By that great knowledge whence has power its birth. How oft on some strange loveliness while gazing Have I wish'd for you-beautiful as new, The purple waves like some wild army raising Their snowy banners as the ship cuts through. My friends, my absent friends! Do you think of me, as I think of you? The waves against the sides incessant breaking, And rope and canvas swaying to and fro. The topmost-sail, it seems like some dim pinnacle Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air; My friends, my absent friends! Far from my native land, and far from you. On one side of the ship, the moonbeam's shimmer In luminous vibrations sweeps the sea, But where the shadow falls, a strange, pale glimmer Seems, glow-worm like, amid the waves to be. All that the spirit keeps of thought and feeling, Takes visionary hues from such an hour; But while some phantasy is o'er me stealing, I start remembrance has a keener power: My friends, my absent friends! From the fair dream I start to think of you. AND the night was dark and calm, While red and fitful gleams come from Only a moaning sound Came from the distant sea; It was as if, like life, It had no tranquillity. |