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Into invisibility, while forth
The Saviour of the world walk'd, and stood
Before the sepulchre, and view'd the clouds
Impurpled glorious by the rising sun.

Of justice, temperance, and the life to come,
The judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's voice.

JESUS APPEARS TO THE DISCIPLES. The evening of that day, which saw the Lord Rise from the chambers of the dead, was come. His faithful followers, assembled, sang A hymn, low-breathed; a hymn of sorrow, blent With hope; when, in the midst, sudden he stood; The awe-struck circle backward shrink; he looks Around with a benignant smile of love, And says, Peace be unto you: Faith and joy Spread o'er each face, amazed; as when the moon, Pavilion'd in dark clouds, mildly comes forth, Silvering a circlet in the fleecy ranks.

PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF

THE AREOPAGUS. LISTEN that voice! upon the hill of Mars, Rolling in bo]der thunders than e'er peal'd From lips that shook the Macedonian throne; Behold his dauntless outstretch'd arm, bis face Illumed of heaven :-he knoweth not the fear Of man, of principalities, of powers. The stoic's moveless frown; the vacant stare Of Epicurus' herd; the scowl and gnash malign Of superstition, stopping both her ears; The Areopagite tribunal dread, From whence the doom of Socrates was utter'd ;This hostile throng dismays him not: he seems As if no worldly object could inspire A terror in his soul; as if the vision, Which, when he journey'd to Damascus, shone From heaven, still swam before his eyes, Outdazzling all things earthly; as if the voice, That spake from out th' effulgence, ever rang Within his ear, inspiring him with words, Burning, majestic, lofty, as his theme,The resurrection, and the life to come.

PARAPHRASE. Who healeth all thy diseases: ucho redeemeth thy life from destruction : who crouneth thee with loring-kinda ness and tender mercies.-Psalm ciii. 3, 4. THESE eyes, that were half-closed in death,

Now dare the noontide blaze;
My voice, that scarce could speak my wants,

Now hymns Jehovah's praise.
How pleasant to my feet unused,

To tread the daisied ground !
How sweet to my unwonted ear

The streamlet's lulling sound.
How soft the first breath of the breeze

That on my temples play'd!
How sweet the woodland evening sorg,

Full floating down the glade!
But sweeter far the lark that soars

Through morning's blushing ray ;
For then unseen, unheard, I join

His lonely heavenward lay.
And sweeter still that infant voice,

With all its artless charms ;-
'Twas such as he that Jesus took,

And cherish'd in his arms.
O Lord my God! all these delights

I to thy mercy owe;
For thou hast raised me from the couch

Of sickness, pain, and wo.
'Twas thou that from the whelming wave

My sinking soul redeem'd; 'Twas thou that o'er destruction's storm

A calming radiance beam'd.

ON VISITING MELROSE,

PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE ROMAN

GOVERNOR OF JUDEA.

AFTER AN ABSENCE OF SIXTEEN YEARS.

The judge ascended to the judgment-seat ;
Amid a gleam of spears th’apostle stood.
Dauntless he forward came, and look'd around,
And raised his voice, at first in accents low,
Yet clear; a whisper spread among the throng:-
So when the thunder mutters, still the breeze
Is heard, at times, to sigh ; but when the peal
Tremendous, louder rolls, a silence dead
Succeeds each pause,-moveless the aspen leaf.
Thus fix'd and motionless, the listening band
Of soldiers forward lean'd, as from the man
Inspired of God, truth's awful thunders roll’d.
No more he feels, upon his high-raised arm,
The ponderous chain, than does the playful child
The bracelet, form'd of many a flowery link.
Heedless of self, forgetful that his life
Is now to be defended by his words,
He only thinks of doing good to them
Who seek his life ; and while he reasons high

Yon setting sun, that slowly disappears,
Gleams a memento of departed years :
Ay, many a year is gone, and many a friend,
Since here I saw the autumn sun descend.
Ah! one is gone, whose hand was lock'd in mine,
In this, that traces now the sorrowing line:
And now alone I scan the mouldering tombs,
Alone I wander through the vaulted glooms,
And list, as if the echoes might retain
One lingering cadence of her varied strain.
Alas! I heard that melting voice decay,
Heard seraph tones in whispers die away;
I mark'd the tear presageful fill her eye,
And quivering speak, I am resign'd to die.
Ye stars that through the fretted windows shed

glimmering beam athwart the mighty dead,
Say to what sphere her sainted spirit flew,
That thither I may turn my longing view,
And wish, and hope, some tedious seasons o'er,
To join a long lost friend, to part no more.

THE WILD DUCK AND HER BROOD. EPITAPH ON A BLACKBIRD KILLED BY A

HAWK.
How calm that little lake! no breath of wind
Sighs through the reeds; a clear abyss it seems,

WINTER was o'er, and spring-flowers deck'd the Held in the concave of th’inverted sky,

glade; In which is seen the rook's dull flagging wing

The blackbird's note among the wild woods rung: Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails

Ah, short-lived note! the songster now is laid Yon little fleet, the wild duck and her brood !

Beneath the bush on which so sweet he sung. Fearless of harm, they row their easy way;

Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent, The water-lily neath the plumy prows,

Are now all soil'd among the mouldering clay; Dips, reappearing in their dimpled track.

A primrosed turf is all thy monument, Yet, e'en amid that scene of peace, the noise

And for thy dirge the redbreast lends his lay.
Of war, unequal, dastard war, intrudes.
Yon revel rout of men, and boys, and dogs,
Boisterous approach; the spaniel dashes in ;
Quick he descries the prey; and faster swims,

THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.
And eager barks; the harmless flock dismay'd,
Hasten to gain the thickest grove of reeds. Yon motley, sable-suited throng, that wait
All but the parent pair ; they, floating, wait

Around the poor man's door, announce a tale
To lure the foe, and lead him from their young;

Of wo; the husband, parent, is no more.
But soon themselves are forced to seek the shore. Contending with disease, he labour'd long,
Vain then the buoyant wing; the leaden storm By penury compell’d; yielding at last,
Arrests their flight; they, fluttering, bleeding, fall, He laid him down to die; but, lingering on
And tinge the troubled bosom of the lake.

From day to day, he from his sick-bed saw,
Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want
Veil'd in a clouded smile; alas ! he heard
The elder lispingly attempt to still

The younger's plaint,-languid he raised his head,
TO A REDBREAST, THAT FLEW IN AT MY | And thought he yet could toil, but sunk
WINDOW.

Into the arms of death, the poor man's friend ! FROY snowy plains, and icy sprays,

The coffin is borne out; the humble pomp From moonless nights, and sunless days,

Moves slowly on; the orphan mourner's hand Welcome, poor bird ! I'll cherish thee;

(Poor helpless child !) just reaches to the pall. I love thee, for thou trustest me.

And now they pass into the field of graves, Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest!

And now around the narrow house they stand, Fondly I'll warry thee in my breast:

And view the plain black board sink from the sight. How quick thy little heart is beating !

Hollow the mansion of the dead resounds, As if its brother flutterer greeting.

As falls cach spadeful of the bone-mix'd mould. Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom ;

The turf is spread; uncover’d is each head, No: freely flutter round my room ;

A last farewell: all turn their several ways. Perch on my lute's remaining string,

Wo's me! those tear-dimm’d eyes, that sobbing

breast! And sweetly of sweet summer sing. That note, that summer note, I know ;

Poor child! thou thinkest of the kindly hand It wakes at once, and soothes my wo;

That wont to lead thee home : No more that hand I see those woods, I see that stream,

Shall aid thy feeble gait, or gentle stroke I see,-ah, still prolong the dream!

Thy sun-bleach'd head and downy cheek. Still with thy song those scenes renew,

But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps ; Though through my tears they reach my view.

In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page,No more pow, at my lonely meal,

Her thoughts are in the grave; 'tis thou alone, While thou art by, alone I'll feel;

Her first-born child, canst rouse that statue gaze For soon, devoid of all distrust,

Of wo profound. Haste to the widow'd arms; Thou'lt nibbling share my humble crust;

Look with thy father's look, speak with his voice, Or on my finger, pert and spruce,

And melt a heart that else will break with grief. Thou'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice ; And when (our short collation o'er) Some favourite volume I explore, Be't work of poet or of sage,

THE THANKSGIVING OFF CAPE TRASafe thou shalt hop across the page ;

FALGAR. Uncheck'd, shall fit o'er Virgil's groves, UPON the high, yet gently rolling wave, Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves.

The floating tomb that heaves above the brave, Thus, heedless of the raving blast,

Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roard, Thou'lt dwell with me till winter's past; Whelming the wretched remnants of the sword. And when the primrose tells 'tis spring,

And now the cannon's peaceful thunder calls And when the thrush begins to sing,

The victor bands to mount their wooden walls, Soon as I hear the woodland song,

And from the ramparts, while their comrades fell, Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng.

The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell:

Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread, Ah, no! full oft a boding horror flies
And crowd the engines, whence the lightnings sped: Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries.
The white-robed priest his upraised hands extends : Almighty Power! his harmless life defend,
Hush'd is each voice, attention leaning bends; And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send.
Then from each prow the grand hosannas rise, And yet a wish will rise,—would I might live,
Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies. Till added years his memory firmness give!
Heaven fills each heart; yet home will oft intrude, For, 0! it would a joy in death impart,
And tears of love celestial joys exclude.

To think I still survived within his heart;
The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain, To think he'll cast, midway the vale of years,
Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain;

A retrospective look, bedimm'd with tears;
While parting spirits, mingling with the lay, And tell, regretful, how I look'd and spoke;
On hallelujahs wing their heavenward way. What walks I loved; where grew my favourite oak;

How gently I would lead him by the hand;
How gently use the accent of command;

What lore I taught him, roaming wood and wild,
TO MY SON.

And how the man descended to the child; TWICE has the sun commenced his annual round, How well I loved with him, on Sabbath morn, Since first thy footsteps totter'd o'er the ground, To hear the anthem of the vocal thorn; Since first thy tongue was tuned to bless mine ear, To teach religion, unallied to strife, By faltering out the name to fathers dear.

And trace to him the way, the truth, the life. 0! nature's language, with her looks combined, But far and farther still my view I bend, More precious far than periods thrice refined! And now I sec a child thy steps attend ;0! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile, To yonder churchyard wall thou takest thy way, I prize you more than beauty's magic smile: While round thee, pleased, thou seest the infant play; Yes, in that face, unconscious of its charm Then lifting him, while tears suffuse thine eyes, I gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm.

Pointing, thou tell'st him, There thy grandsire lies.

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JOANNA BAILLIE.

JOANNA BAILLIE, sister of the celebrated Dr. passions. Her plays, however, have not the tranMatthew Baillie, was born at Bothwell, in Scotland, scendent dramatic merit which has been claimed about the year 1765. We have been unable to for them by some of her admirers. She is by no collect any particulars of her life, but she is well means a Shakspeare. One of her most recent pubknown to the public as one of the most successful lications is, A View of the general Tenor of the New female writers of the present age. Her most Testament, regarding the Nature and Dignity of celebrated production is her Plays of the Passions ; Jesus Christ. She is also the author of The Family a series in which each passion is made the subject Legend, a tragedy ; Metrical Legends, or Exalted of a tragedy and a comedy. These procured her Characters; two dramas, entitled, respectively,– great reputation, particularly her tragedies, which The Martyr, and The Bride ; and a volume of evince strong conceptions of character, vivid dramas, very recently published. imagery, and a masterly delineation of the various

MEN.

WOMEN.

BASIL.

Old Man. Bears she such offerings to St. Francis'

shrine,

So rich, so marvellous rich, as rumour says ?
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

'Twill drain the treasury!

Cit. Since she, in all this splendid pomp, returns COUNT BASIL, a general in the emperor's service. Her public thanks to the good patron saint, Count ROSINBERG, his friend

Who from his sick-bed hath restored her father, DUKE OF MANTUA.

Thou wouldst not have her go with empty hands ? GAURICEIO, his minister.

She loves magnificence
VALTOMER,
FREDERICK,

Two officers of Basil's troops. (Discovering among the crowd old Geoffry,) GEOFFRY, {a

an old soldier very much maimed Ha! art thou here, old remnant of the wars ? in the wars.

Thou art not come to see this courtly show, MIRANDO, a little boy, favourite to Victoria. Which sets the young agape ?

Geof. I come not for the show; and yet, methinks, FICTORIA,

daughter to the Duke of Mantua. It were a better jest upon me still, COUNTESS OF ALBINI, friend and governess to Victoria. If thou didst truly know mine errand here. ISABELLA,

a lady attending upon Victoria. Cit. I prithee say. Officers, soldiers, and attendants, masks, dancers, &c. Geof.

What, must I tell it thee? The scene is in Mantua and its environs. Time As o'er my evening fire I musing sat, supposed to be the sixteenth century, when Charles the Some few days since, my mind's eye backward turn'd Fifta defeated Francis the First, at the battle of Pavia.

Upon the various changes I have passid

How in my youth, with gay attire allured,
ACT I.

And all the grand accoutrements of war,
SCENE I.-AN OPEN STREET, CROWDED WITH PEOPLE I left my peaceful home: Then my first battles,
WHO SEEM TO BE WAITING IN EXPECTATION OF When clashing arms and sights of blood were new:

Then all the after chances of the war:
Enter a CITIZEN.

Ay, and that field, a well-fought field it was, First Man. Well, friend, what tidings of the When with an arm (I speak not of it oft) grand procession ?

Which now (pointing to his empty sleeve) thou Cit. I left it passing by the northern gate.

seest is no arm of mine, Second Man. I've waited long, I'm glad it comes in a straight pass I stopp'd a thousand foes, at last.

And turn'd my flying comrades to the charge; Young Man. And does the princess look so won- For which good service, in his tented court, drous fair

My prince bestow'd a mark of favour on me; As fame reports ?

Whilst his fair consort, seated by his side, Cit. She is the fairest lady of the train, The fairest lady e'er mine eyes beheld, Yet all the fairest beauties of the court

Gave me what more than all besides I prized Are in her train.

Methinks I see her stilla gracious smile 39

2 c 2

305

SOME SHOW

'Twas a heart-kindling smile,-a smile of praise (Music is heard again, and nearer. Geoffry walks Well, musing thus on all my fortunes past,

up and down with a military triumphant step.) A neighbour drew the latchet of my door,

Cit. What moves thee thus ? And full of news from town, in many words

Geof. I've march'd to this same tune in glorious Big with rich names, told of this grand procession;

days. E’en as he spoke a fancy seized my soul My very limbs catch motion from the sound, To see the princess pass, if in her looks

As they were young again. I yet might trace some semblance of her mother. Sec. Cit

But here they come. This is the simple truth ; laugh as thou wilt. Enter Count Basil, officers and soldiers in procession, I came not for the show.

with colours flying, and martial music. When they Enter an OFFICER,

have marched halfway over the stage, an officer of the

duke's enters from the opposite side, and speaks to BASIL, Officer to Geof. Make way that the procession upon which he gives a sign with his hand, and the may have room :

martial music ceases ; soft music is heard at a little Stand you aside, and let this man have place.

distance, and VICTORIA, with a long procession of ladies, (Pushing Geof. and endeavouring to put another

enters from the opposite side. General, &c. pay obej

sance to her, as she passes ; she stops to return it, and in his place.)

then goes off with her train. After which, the military Geof. But that thou art the prince's officer, procession moves on, and exeunt. I'd give thee back thy push with better blows.

Cit. to Geof. What think'st thou of the princess ? Officer. What, wilt thou not give place ? the

Geof.

She is fair, prince is near:

But not so fair as her good mother was. [EXEUNT,
I will complain to him, and have thee caged.
Geof. Yes, do complain, I pray; and when thou SCENE II.-A PUBLIC WALK ON THE RAMPARTS OF
dost,

THE TOWN.
Say that the private of the tenth brigade,
Who saved his army on the Danube's bank,

Enter Count ROSINBERG, VALTOMER, and FREDERICK.-

Valtomer enters by the opposite side of the stage, and And since that time a private hath remain'd,

meets them. Dares, as a citizen, his right maintain

Valt. O what a jolly town for way-worn soldiers ! Against thy insolence. Go tell him this,

Rich steaming pots, and smell of dainty fare, And ask him then what dungeon of his tower

From every house salutes you as you pass :
He'll have me thrust into.
Cit. to Officer. This is old Geoffry of the tenth Music and merriment in every street;

Light feats and juggler's tricks attract the eye; brigade.

Whilst pretty damsels, in their best attire, Offi. I knew him not: you should have told me

Trip on in wanton groups, then look behind, [EXIT, looking much ashamed. To spy the fools a gazing after them. Martial music heard at a distance.

Fred. But short will be the season of our ease, Cit. Hark, this is music of a warlike kind.

For Basil is of flinty matter made,
Enter Second CITIZEN.

And cannot be aHuredTo Sec. Cit. What sounds are these, good friend, ’Faith, Rosinberg, I would thou didst command us, which this way bear?

Thou art his kinsman, of a rank as noble, Sec. Cit. The brave Count Basil is upon his march, Some years his elder too-How has it been To join the emperor with some chosen troops, That he should be preferr'd ? I see not why. And as an ally doth through Mantua pass.

Ros. Ah! but I see it, and allow it well; Geof. I've heard a good report of this young soldier. He is too much my pride to wake my envy.

Sec. Cit. 'Tis said he disciplines his men severely, Fred. Nay, count, it is thy foolish admiration And over-much the old commander is,

Which raises him to such superior height; Which seems ungracious in so young a man. And truly thou hast so infected us,

Geof. I know he loves not ease and revelry; That I at times have felt me awed before him, He makes them soldiers at no dearer rate

I knew not why. 'Tis cursed folly this. Than he himself hath paid. What, dost thou think, Thou art as brave, of as good parts as he. That e'en the very meanest simple craft

Ros. Our talents of a different nature are ; Cannot without due diligence be learn'd,

Mine for the daily intercourse of life, And yet the noble art of soldiership

And his for higher things. May be attain'd by loitering in the sun ?

Fred. Well, praise him as thou wilt; I see it not; Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; I'm sure I am as brave a man as he. Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honour's field, Ros. Yes, brave thou art, but 'tis subaltern Still on their dinner turn

bravery, Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home,

And doth respect thyself. Thou'lt bleed as well, And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword. Give and receive as deep a wound as he. In times of easy service, true it is,

When Basil fights he wields a thousand swords; An easy, careless chief all soldiers love ;

For 'tis their trust in his unshaken mind, But 0! how gladly in the day of battle

O’erwatching all the changes of the field, Would they their jolly bottle-chief desert, Calm and inventive midst the battle's storm, And follow such a leader as Count Basil!

Which makes his soldiers bold.So gathering herds, at pressing danger's call, There have been those, in early manhood slain, Confess the master decr.

Whose great heroic souls have yet inspired

sooner.

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