And Rupert, as he gazed upon Behind her walked a hideous form, He seemed the first of all the crowd, "Yes, yes," said Rupert, "this is he, Then slow he went, and to this fiend Who looked and read them with a yell And when he saw the blood-scrawled name "I thought," cries he, "his time was out, But he must soon be mine!" Then darting at the youth a look, The female fiend no sooner heard And, giving it unto the youth, With eyes that breathed of hell, She said, in that tremendous voice Which he remembered well: "In Austin's name take back the ring. And thou'rt to me no longer wed, He took the ring, the rabble passed, His wife was then the happiest fair, SONG. ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. Written in Ireland. Of all my happiest hours of joy, Such hours as this I ne'er was given, So dear to friendship, dear to blisses; Young Love himself looks down from heaven, To smile on such a day as this is! Then oh my friends, this hour improve, And may the birth of her we love Be thus with joy remembered ever! Oh! banish every thought to-night Which could disturb our soul's communion! Abandoned thus to dear delight, We'll e'en for once forget the Union! On that let statesmen try their powers, And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for; The union of the soul be ours, And every union else we sigh for! Then oh my friends, this hour improve, And may the birth of her we love Be thus with joy remembered ever! In every eye around I mark The feelings of the heart o'erflowing; From every soul I catch the spark Of sympathy, in friendship glowing! Oh! could such moments ever fly; Oh! that we ne'er were doomed to lose 'em! And all as bright as Charlotte's eye, And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom. But oh my friends, this hour improve, Be thus with joy remembered ever! For me, whate'er my span of years, Or live, as now, for mirth and loving' This day shall come with aspect kind, And drink a health to bliss that's over! Then oh my friends, this hour improve, TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH. Is it not sweet, beloved youth, And is it not more sweet than this, It must be so to thee, my youth; This sweetens all the fruits of truth, And makes the flowers of Fancy brighter! The little gift we send thee, boy, May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder, If indolence or siren joy Should ever tempt that soul to wander ; "Twill tell thee that the winged day Can ne'er be chained by man's endeavour; That life and time shall fade away, While heaven and virtue bloom for ever! FRAGMENTS OF COLLEGE EXERCISES. Those borrowed splendours, whose contrasting light Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue. Where are the arts by which that glory grew? The genuine virtues that with eagle gaze Justum bellum quibus necessarium, et pia arma quibus nulla nisi in armis relinquitur spes.-Livy. Is there no call, no consecrating cause, Approved by Heaven, ordained by Nature's laws, And truth's pure beams upon the banners play? Yes, there's a call sweet as an angel's breath Oh! 'tis our country's voice, whose claim should meet SONG. MARY, I believed thee true, And I was blest in thus believing; Few have ever loved like me, Oh! I have loved thee too sincerely! And few have e'er deceived like thee, Fare thee well! yet think awhile On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee; And die with thee than live without thee! Fare thee well! I'll think of thee, Thou leav'st me many a bitter token; For see, distracting woman! see, My peace is gone, my heart is broken!- SONG. WHY does azure deck the sky? Because it is thy blushes' hue. Why is falling snow so white, But to be like thy bosom fair? Why are solar beams so bright? That they may seem thy golden hair! All that's bright, by Love's decree, Has been made resembling thee! Why are Nature's beauties felt? Oh! 'tis thine in her we see! Why has music power to melt? Oh! because it speaks like thee. All that's sweet, by Love's decree, Has been made resembling thee! MORALITY, A FAMILIAR EPISTLE. ADDRESSED TO J. ATKINSON, ESQ., M.R.I.A. THOUGH long at school and college dozing, Though long with those divines at school I must confess, my searches past, I only learned to doubt at last. I find the doctors and the sages Have differed in all climes and ages, 'Tis like the rainbow's shifting zone, The doctors of the Porch advise, |