Слике страница

The Toper and Resolution.

'Tis very right-exactly so; Nor will I for a twelvemonth go ; Hip! hip!- I've made a vow you know.' • Keep, keep to that-bravissimo!' Cries Resolution—come away'* Stay' said the Toper-stay-stay-stay Our bargain made-now don't you think We might just take a little drink? 'Tis mostly done on such occasions' • Nay but attend to my persuasions ; My friend---my friend-your vow-your vow,' *Oh! I will keep it never fear ; But then I feel so thirsty nowI don't think I included beer.

• You did ---you did - nay, tarry not

But only just a parting pot'

• It must not be'

Well come away

That's right-there's danger in delay.'
The Toper had some paces gone,
His new friend having help'd him on,
When suddenly he stopp'd and cried,
To Resolution at his side:

I say-d'ye hear-my sober sir,
Not one inch farther will I stir;
I'll not be led-hip!--not I-00;
Zounds and the devil sir !-let me go;
D'ye think I'm drunk?"

"We then must part, • I see we must'

• With all my heart,
Shake hands upon it now-d'ye see,
You 're quite too dry a chip for me.'
Some paces Resolution fled,
And disappointed shook his head,
Yet linger'd nigh-the Toper then,
Bespoke the shadowy form again.

Parting Lines.

* I'll keep my promise my dear friend,
Firm as a rock, you may depend;
Shake hands my boy—I'll keep my vow-

I feel just up-and gay and mellow
So, Resolution, dam'me now,

I'll drink your health, my noble fellow,
And then I'm off-oh, honor bright-
Not one drop more I'll taste to night.'
The Toper darted to the door
He lately vowed to pass no more
And staggered through-while with a sigh
Grare Resolution said ' good bye,'
And went his way, distrest to find,
That he should be so weak in mind.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Song.-Lindor's answer to Alcestas.

For he was form'd by fate's design

So little to inherit,
That only goodness such as thine

Could pardon such demerit.

Nor his the gift designed to lie

Mid rarities, till rotten,
No rich derice to charm the eye

When he who gave 's forgotten.
But tho' it boast nor gem nor gold,

It came from one who deem d thee
So high, that all his powers were cold

To tell how he esteem'd thee!


Oh, fly with me, love !—from those desolate shores,
Where the tye may not look on the heart it adores;
Where love is but shrined in the breasts of a few,
And its worth only felt by such spirits as you !


To some distant land, far away from the
Of the cold and the heartless, together we'll fly;
Where with nature around us-the blue sky above,

may taste all the sweets of peace, freedom, and love!
There with heart never changing-nor brow overcast
By one hateful remembrance of days that are past;
We'll forget all the dreams of our earlier years,
Our madness and sorrow-our darkness and tears.

Oh, we'll love with that exquisite tone of delight That the blest ever feel in the mansions of light; And our lives, like the close of a long summer's day, Shall pass amid glory and calmness away!


From growing indolence I start, and wake,

Roused by ihy once well-known—now stranger pen, And from a cloud of mental stupor break

To tempt life's whirlwind, trying if again Its varying gales of happiness and woe

Can bring forth former feelings to my soul

Lindor's answer to Alcestas.

In full remembrance of the past as though

Time's self had stood, and bowed to the control Of all the incidents o'er which it rules,

Fooling mankind, who never deem the end Will shew that nothing but misfortune schools The ignorant in craft, or proves the friend,

The world goes round us, and our fleeting years

Roll onward to the goal of time, whose stream Ruffled by sighs of woe, and swelled with tears

Runs chill and gloomy still ;-joy's waning beam, Nor warms, nor lights the impenetrable flood.

Pleasures may seem to cheer us, and we smile; But, like the workings of the fevered blood,

They end. -We dreamt-it may be, rared the while.

For this life happiness was never made

We must look further-else we look in vain. While hopes unrealized in visions fade,

Sorrows their dread disast'rous summit gain.

To prove

By passions oft our tortured souls are riven;

Love rules a tyrant of despotic sway;
A seeming excellence is sent from Heaven

its power by leading men astray, We'd fly ourselves—the self-tormentor shun

We sigh for peace ; yet wearied, seeking rest, We headlong to the giday vortex run,

Where froth, and nothingness, and nonsense, drest In all the pomp of jewels, lace, and pride,

Reigo self-important, and with vacant gaze Betraying ignorance they fain would hide

In fashion's trammels stalk through fully's maze.

Say then shall this our firmer souls dismay?

No-hearts, that friendship hath so closely bound, Despise the light, unsentimental play

Of feeling's levity, or the empty sound
Of promise that may ne'er performance meet ;

We hate the absence of Promethean fire,
Vor brook the word, when action 's incomplete.

Too loathsome this. We'll to ourselves retire.
Some other thoughts shall fill our blanks of time,

Whether the sun-light or the taper's rays Shall guide us in a loftier range to climb,

And from life's death redecin our future days.

Elegiac Lines to the Irish Harp- The Dramatic Cbserver.




Peerless thy strains, sweet Harp of Erin, flow

To wipe the bursting tear from sorrow's eye,
To smooth the furrowed brow of drooping woe,

Or wrap the soul in extacies on high!
Thou sweetest nymph in sphere-born music's train,

Round thee each gentler passion hovers nigh;
How pleasure sparkles at thy sportive strain !

How pity hails thy heart-entrancing sigh!
When Heaven's dread wrath shot direful from above,

And sorrow pour'd her viol thro' the air,
The power that crush'd us felt its former love

And left thee, charmer! to beguile our care!
What tho' thy strain can boast no pompous sound

That strikes the ear nor more essays to do,
Be thine the lay, tho lively, yet profound,

That charms the ear and melts the bosom too !
What tho' each loftier tone be vanished long

To bless the lyre of some more happy shore,
Mild sympathy still breathes thy plaintive song

And pensive melancholy as before !
And if remembrance darken at thy lay,

As oft it wails poor Erin's glories gone,
The shade's dark contrast gilds with brighter ray

The morn that dawns when hope inspires thy song.
Oh! yes--thou still possessest many a charm-

Full many a link siill binds thee to each heart
Of balf its power thou robb'st fell fortune's arm,

Thou stripp'st of half its keenness misery's smart.
Yes! soon the dire offence shall be forgiven

That left thee victim to misfortune's train,
Erin shall smile again the loved of Heaven,

And fame and wisdoni's song be thine again!


[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

The production of “ Mirandola," a tragedy, by Barry Cornwall, is the earliest novelty that comes under our observation this month. Our opinion of the merits of this play will be found in another part of this number— we have only to speak of the performance here. In commenting on Mr. Young on a former occasion, we remarked the cold precision and chaste excellence of his acting, but we had not at that iime witnessed his exertions in Mirandola ; he has since convinced us



« ПретходнаНастави »