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When lullid by zephyr to repose. For once my soul, like thine, was pure, Full often has my infant Muse,
And all its rising fires could smother; Attuned to love her languid lyre : But now thy vows no more endure, But now, without a theme to choose, Bestow'd by thee upon another.
The strains in stolen sighs expire; My youthful nymphs, alas! are flown;
Perhaps his peace I could destroy, E- is a wife, and C- a mother,
And spoil the blisses that await him; And Carolina sighs alone,
Yet, let my rival smile in joy, And Mary'a given to another;
For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. And Cora's eye, which rolled on me,
Can now no more my love recal,
Ah! since thy angel-form is gone,
My heart no more can rest with anys And though the Sun, with genial rays,
But what it sought in thee alone, His beams alike to all displays,
Attempts, alas! to find in many. And every lady's eye's a sun, These last should be confined to one. Then fare thee well, deceitful maid, The soul's meridian don't become her, 'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee; Whose sun displays a general summer. Nor hope nor memory yield their aid, Thus faint is every former flame,
But Pride may teach me to forget thee. And Passion's self is now a name : As when the ebbing flames are low, Yet all this giddy waste of years, The aid which once improved their light,
This tiresome round of palling pleasures, And bade them burn with fiercer glow,
These varied loves, these matron's fears, Now quenches all their sparks in night;
These thoughtless strains to Passion's Thus has it been with Passion's fires,
measures, As many a boy and girl remembers, While all the force of
love expires, Extinguish'd with the dying embers.
If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd ;
This cheek 'now pale from early riot,
With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, But now dear –, 'tis midnight's noon, But bloond in calm domestic quiet. And clouds obscure the watery moon, Whose beauties I shall not rehearse, Described in every stripling's verse;
Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, For why should I the path go o'er,
For nature seem'd to smile before thee; Which every bard has trod before? And once my breast abhorr'd deceit,
For then it beat but to adore thee.
Has thrice perform'd her stated round,
And chased away the gloom profound, To think would drive my soul to madness; I trust that we, my gentle friend, In thoughtless throngs and empty noise, Shall see her rolling orbit wend,
I conquer half my bosom's sadness. Above the dear loved peaceful seat Which once contain'd our youth's retreat ; Yet, even in these, a thought will steal, And then, with those our childhood knew,
In spite of every vain endeavour; We'll mingle with the festive crew; And fiends might pity what I feel, While many a tale of former day
To know that thou art lost for ever. Shall wing the langhing hours away; And all the flow of soul shall pour The sacred intellectual shower, Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn Scarce glimmers through the mist of Morn.
I WOULD I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my Highland cave, OH! had my fate been join'd with thine, Or roaming through the dusky wild, As once this pledge appear'd a token,
Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave. These follies had not then been mine,
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride For then my peace had not been broken.
Accords not with the freeborn soul,
Which loves the mountain's craggy side, To thee these early faults I owe,
And seeks the rocks where billows roll. To thee, the wise and old reproving ; They know my sins, but do not know Fortune! take back these cultured lands,
'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. Take back this name of splendid sound!
I hate the touch of servile hands
LINES I hate the slaves that cringe around:
WBITTEN BERBATH AN BLY IN TIB CHURCIIPlace me along the rocks I love, Which sound to ocean's wildest roar,
YARD OF HARROW ON TIIB ILL. I ask but this—again to rove
SEPT. 2, 1807.
sigh, Few are my years, and yet I feel
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless The world was ne'er design’d for me ;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal The hour when man must cease to be?
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; Once I beheld a splendid dream,
With those who, scatter'd far, perchance A visionary scene of bliss;
deplore, Truth! wherefore did thy hated beam
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before:
Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill, Awake me to a world like this?
Mine eyes admire,iny heart adores thee still,
Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I loved-but those I loved are gone; Had friends — my early friends are And frequent mused the twilight-hours
away ; How cheerless feels the heart alone, Where, as they once were wont, my limbs When all its former hopes are dead!
recline, Though gay companions, o'er the bowl, But ah! without the thoughts which then Dispel awhile the sense of ill,
were mine: Though Pleasure stirs the maddening How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,
Invite the bosom to recal the past ; The heart—the heart is lonely still. And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,
“Take, while thou canst, a lingering last
farewell!" How dull to hear the voice of those
When Fate shall chill at length this fever'd Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or
And calm its cares and passions into rest, Have made, though neither Friends or Foes, Oft have I thought 'twould soothe my dying Associates of the festive hour;
hour, Give me again a faithful few,
If anght may soothe when life resigns her In years and feelings still the same,
power, And I will fly the midnight crew,
To know some humbler grave, some narrow Where boist'rous joy is but a name.
Would hide my bosom where it loved to And Woman! lovely Woman, thou,
dwell; My hope, my comforter, my all!
With this fond dream, methinks 'twere How cold must be my bosom now,
sweet to die, When e'en thy smiles begin to pall!
And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie; Without a sigh would I resign
Here might I sleep, where all my hopes arose, This busy scene of splendid woe,
Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose : To make that calm contentment mine
For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling Which Virtue knows, or
shade, seems to know. Prest by the turf where once my childhood
Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, Fain would I fly the haunts of men- Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footI seek to shun, not hate mankind;
steps moved ; My breast requires the sullen glen, Blest by the tongues that charm’d my Whose gloom may suit a darken’d mind.
youthful ear, Oh! that to me the wings were given Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged Which bear the turtle to her nest !
here, Then would I cleave the vault of heaven, Deplored by those in early days allied, To flee away and be at rest.
And unremember'd by the world beside.
A FRA G M E N T.
June, 17, 1816. contradictory and contradicted, that none In the year 17—, having for some time could be fixed upon with accuracy. Where determined on a journey through countries there is mystery, it is generally supposed not hitherto much frequented by travellers, that there must also be evil: I know. not I set out, accompanied by a friend, whom how this may be, but in him there certainly I shall designate by the name of Augustus was the one, though I could not ascertain Darvell. He was a few years my elder, the extent of the other - and felt loth, as and a man of considerable fortune and an- far as regarded himself, to believe in its cient family-advantages which an exten-existence. My advances were received with sive capacity prevented him alike from un-sufficient coldness ; but I was young, and dervaluing or overrating. Some peculiar not easily discouraged, and at length succircumstances in his private history had ceeded in obtaining , to a certain degree, rendered him to me an object of attention, that common-place intercourse and moderate of interest, and even of regard, which confidence of common and every-day conneither the reserve of his manners, nor cerns, created and cemented by similarity occasional indications of an inquietude at of pursuit and frequency of meeting, which times nearly approaching to alienation of is called intimacy, or friendship, according mind, could extinguish.
to the ideas of him who uses those words I was yet young in life, which I had to express them. begun early; but my intimacy with him Darvell had already travelled extensively, was of a recent date: we had been educa- and to him I had applied for information ted at the same schools and university; but with regard to the conduct of my intended his progress through these had preceded journey. It was my secret wish that he mine, and he had been deeply initiated into might be prevailed on to accompany me: what is called the world, while I was yet was also a probable hope, founded upon in my noviciate. While thus engaged, 1 the shadowy restlessness which I had obhad heard much both of his past and present served in him, and to which the animation life; and, although in these accounts there which he appeared to feel on such subjects, were many and irreconcilable contradic- and his apparent indifference to all by which tions, I could still gather from the whole he was more immediately surrounded, gave that he was a being of no common order, fresh strength. This wish I first hinted, and one who, whatever pains he might take and then expressed : his answer, though I to avoid remark, would still be remarkable. had partly expected it, gave me all the I had cultivated his acquaintance subse- pleasure of surprise – he consented; and, quently, and endeavoured to obtain his after the requisite arrangements, we comfriendship, but this last appeared to be un-menced our voyages. After journeying attainable; whatever affections he might through various countries of the south of have possessed seemed now, some to have Europe, our attention was turned towards been extinguished, and others to be concen- the East, according to our original destinatred : that his feelings were acute I had suffi- tion; and it was in my progress through cient opportunities of observing; for, al- those regions that the incident occurred though he could control, he could not alto- upon which will turn what I may have to gether disguise them : still he had a power relate. of giving to one passion the appearance of
The constitution of Darvell, which must, another in such a manner that it was diffi- from his appearance, have been in early cult to define the nature of what was work-life more than nsually robust, had been for ing within him; and the expressions of his some time gradually giving way, without features would vary so rapidly, though the intervention of any apparent disease: slightly, that it was useless to trace them he had neither cough nor hectic, yet he to their sources. It was evident that he became daily more enfeebled: his habits was a prey to some cureless disquiet; but were temperate, and he neither declined whether it arose from ambition , love, re- nor complained of fatigue, yet he was evimorse, grief, from one or all of these, or dently wasting away: he became more and merely from a morbid temperament akin to more silent and sleepless, and at length so disease, I could not discover: there were cir- altered, that my alarm grew proportionate cumstances alleged which might have justi- to what I conceived to be his danger. fied the application to each of these causes ; We had determined, on our arrival at but, as I have before said, these were so Smyrna, on an excursion to the ruins of
Ephesn's and Sardio, from which I endea-, To this question I received no answer. voured to dissuade him, in his present state In the mean time, Saleiman returned with of indisposition – but in vain: there ap- the water, leaving the serrugee and the peared to be an oppression on his mind, and horses at the fountain. The quenching of à solemnity in his manner, which ill cor- his thirst had the appearance of reviving responded with his eagerness to proceed on him for a moment; I conceived hopes what I regarded as a mere party of pleasure, of his being able to proceed, or at least to little suited to a valetudinarian; but I op- return, and I urged the attempt. He was posed him no longer – and in a few days silent- and appeared to be collecting his we set off together, accompanied only by spirits for an effort to speak. He began. a serrugee and a single janizary.
“This is the end of my journey, and of We had passed half-way towards the re-iny life-I came here to die: but I have a mains of Ephesus, leaving behind us the request to make, a command -- for such my more fertile environs of Smyrna, and were last words must be.--You will observe it?" entering upon that wild and tenantless track “Most certainly; but have better hopes.” through the marches and defiles which lead “I have no hopes, nor wishes, but this — to the few huts yet lingering over the bro-conceal my death from every human being.” ken columns of Diana - the roofless walls "I hope there will be no occasion; that of expelled Christianity, and the still more you will recover, and—” recent but complete desolation of abandoned “Peace! it must be so: promise this." mosques – when the sudden and rapid ill- “I do." ness of my companion obliged us to halt at “Swear it by all that”-He here dictated a Turkish cemetery, the turbaned tomb- an oath of great solemnity. stones of which were the sole indication that “There is no occasion for this-I will obhuman life had ever been a sojourner in serve your request;- and to doubt me is—" this wilderness. The only caravanserai we “It cannot be helped,--you must swear.” had seen was left some hours behind ns; I took the oath: it appeared to relieve not a vestige of a town, or even cottage, him. He removed a seal-ring from his was within sight or hope, and this "city finger, on which were some Arabic characof the dead" appeared to be the sole refuge ters, and presented it to me. He proceededfor my unfortunate friend, who seemed on “On the ninth day of the month, at noon the verge of becoming the last of its in- precisely (what month you please, but habitants.
this must be the day), you must fing this In this situation, I looked round for a ring into the salt springs which run into place where he might most conveniently the Bay of Eleusis: the day after, at the repose : contrary to the usual aspect of same hour, you must repair to the ruins of Mahometan burial-grounds, the cypresses the temple of Ceres, and wait one hour.” were in this few in number, and these thinly
“Why?” scattered over its extent: the tombstones “You will see.” were mostly fallen, and worn with age!- “The ninth day of the month, you say?” apon one of the most considerable of these, “The ninth." and beneath one of the most spreading trees, As I observed that the present was the Darvell supported himself, in a half-reclin- ninth day of the month, his countenance ing posture, with great difficulty. He changed, and he paused. As he sate, eviashed for water. I had some doubts of our dently becoming more feeble, a stork, with being able to find any, and prepared to go a snake in her beak, perched upon a tombin search of it with hesitating despondency stone near us, and, without devouring her but he desired me to remain ; and, turning prey, appeared to be stedfastly regarding to Suleiman, our janizary, who stood by us. I know not what impelled me to drive us smoking with great tranquillity, he said, it away, but the attempt was useless ; she
; “Suleiman, verbana su” (i. e. bring some made a few circles in the air, and returned water), and went on describing the spot exactly to the same spot. Darvell pointed where it was to be found with great minute to it, and smiled : he spoke-I know not ness, at a small well for camels, a few whether to himself or to me-but the words hundred yards to the right: the janizari | were only, “'Tis well!” obeyed. I said to Darvell,“How did you know '“What is well? what do you mean?”
“No matter: you must bury me here you must perceive that this place was once this evening, and exactly where that bird inhabited, and could not have been so with is now perched. You know the rest of my out springs: I have also been here before.” injunctions."
"You have been here before !-How came He then proceeded to give me several you never to mention this to me? and what directions as to the manner in which his could you be doing in a place where no one death might be best concealed. After these would remain a moment longer than they were finished, he exclaimed, "You perceive could help it?"
that bird ?”
that he had no opportunity of receiving it “And the serpent writhing in her beak ?" unperceived. The day was declining, the
“Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon body was rapidly altering, and nothing rein it; it is her natural prey. But it is mained but to fulfil his request. With the odd that she does not devour it.”
aid of Suleiman's ataghan and my own He smiled in a ghastly manner, and said, sabre, we scooped a shallow grave upon faintly, “It is not yet time!” As he spoke, the spot which Darvell had indicated: the the stork flew away. My eyes followed earth easily gave way, having already reit for a moment, it could hardly be longer ceived some Mahometan tenant. We dug than ten might be counted. I felt Darvell's as deeply as the time permitted us, and weight, as it were, increase upon my throwing the dry earth upon all that reshoulder, and, turning to look upon his mained of the singular being so lately deface, perceived that he was dead !
parted, we cut a few sods of greener turf I was shocked with the sudden certainty from the less withered soil around us, and which could not be mistaken — his coun- laid them upon his sepulchre. tenance in a few minutes became nearly Between astonishment and grief, I was black. I should have attributed so rapid tearless a change to poison, had I not been aware
J. MURRAY, ESQ. ON THE REV. W. L. BOWLES' STRICTURES
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF POPE.
"I'll play at Bowls with the sun and moon.”
“My mother's auld, Sir, and she has rather forgotten hersel in speaking to my Leddy, that canna wcel bide to be contradickit (as I ken naebody likes it if they could help themsels)."
TALES OF my LANDLORD, vol. 11. p. 163.
RAVENNA, February 7th, 1821. Italy; -1 do “remember the circumstance,"
-and have no reluctance to relate it (since DEAR SIR,
called upon so to do) as correctly as the In the different pamphlets which you distance of time and the impression of inhave had the goodness to send me, on the tervening events will permit me. In the Pope and Bowles controversy, I perceive year 1812, more than three years after the that my name is occasionally introduced publication of “English Bards and Scotch by both parties. Mr. Bowles refers more Reviewers," I had the honour of meeting than once to what he is pleased to consider Mr. Bowles in the house of our venerable “a remarkable circumstance,” not only in host the author of “Human Life," the last his letter to Mr. Campbell, but in his Argonaut of classic English poetry, and the reply to the Quarterly. The Quarterly Nestor of our inferior race of living poets. also and Mr. Gilchrist have conferred on Mr. Bowlescalls this “soon after” the pubme the dangerous honour of a quotation ; lication ; but to me three years appear and Mr. Bowles indirectly makes a kind of a considerable segment of the immortality appeal to me personally, by saying, “Lord of a modern poem. I recollect nothing of Byron, if he remembers the circumstance, the rest of the company going into another will witness--(witness IN ITALIC, an omin- room”-- nor, though I well remember the ous character for a testimony at present.) | topography of our host's elegant and clas
I shall not avail myself of a "non mi sically furnished mansion, could I swear ricordo" even after so long a residence into the very room where the conversation