FAREWELL.

WHEN eyes are beaming

What never tongue might tell,

When tears are streaming

From their crystal cell;

When hands are linked that dread to part, And heart is met by throbbing heart,

Oh! bitter, bitter is the smart

Of them that bid farewell!

When hope is chidden

That fain of bliss would tell,

And love forbidden

In the breast to dwell;
When fettered by a viewless chain,
We turn and gaze, and turn again,
Oh! death were mercy to the pain

Of them that bid farewell!

VESPERS.

GOD that madest Earth and Heaven,
Darkness and light!

Who the day for toil hast given,
For rest the night!

May thine angel guards defend us,
Slumber sweet thy mercy send us,
Holy dreams and hopes attend us,
This livelong night!

TO LIEUTENANT-GENERAL,

SIR ROWLAND HILL, K. B.

HILL! whose high daring with renew'd success Hath cheer'd our tardy war, what time the cloud Of expectation, dark and comfortless,

Hung on the mountains; and yon factious crowd Blasphem'd their country's valour, babbling loud! Then was thine arm reveal'd, to whose young might,

By Toulon's leaguer'd wall, the fiercest bow'd; Whom Egypt honour'd, and the dubious fight Of sad Corunna's winter, and more bright Douro, and Talavera's gory bays;

Wise, modest, brave, in danger foremost found.O still, young warrior, may thy toil-earn'd praise, With England's love, and England's honour

crown'd,

Gild with delight thy Father's latter days!

IMITATION

OF

AN ODE BY KOODRUT, IN HINDOOSTANEE.

AMBITION's voice was in my ear, she whisper'd yesterday,

"How goodly is the land of Room, how wide the Russian sway!

How blest to conquer either realm, and dwell through life to come,

Lull'd by the harp's melodious string, cheer'd by the northern drum!"

But Wisdom heard; "O youth," she said, "in passion's fetter tied,

O come and see a sight with me shall cure thee of thy pride!"

She led me to a lonely dell, a sad and shady

ground,

Where many an ancient sepulchre gleamed in the moonshine round.

And

"Here Secunder sleeps," she cried ;"this is his rival's stone;

And here the mighty chief reclines who rear'd the Median throne.

Inquire of these, doth aught of all their ancient pomp remain,

Save late regret, and bitter tears for ever, and in vain?

Return, return, and in thy heart engraven keep my lore;

The lesser wealth, the lighter load,-small blame betides the poor."