"On him shall expectation wait, "His dear, dear country's hope and stay: "A pillar in our peerless state: "In glory's crown a brilliant ray.
"Now, while the martial clangor sounds, "And wide the waving banners fly, "How eagerly his bosom bounds!
Extacy kindling in his eye!
"Awake, ye minstrels, wake the lyre!
"Loud let the mighty descant flow,
"For him who breathes heroic fire!
"And hurls defiance at the foe !-
"A gentler breath pervades the sky:
"And soft that beam of orient day :
"Was it a Maiden's tender sigh?
"Her melting blue-eye's humid ray?
"Cease, gentle Maiden, cease to mourn :
"Let no alarm your bosom move:
"Soon will the valiant Youth return
"Victorious, to your faithful love.
"Go forth, ye British Youth! and save "Your country from a cruel foe: "The rage of bloody conflict brave: "And lay the proud oppressor low. "Despise his menace; scorn his wiles "And lay him spurning in the dust: "For Heaven on your endeavour smiles; "To Heaven for timely succour trust."
Addressed to the Rev. Thos. Sedgewick Whalley, on leaving his Seat, Mendip Lodge, in Somersetshire, Oct. 10,
FAREWELL, my FRIEND, who 'mid thy lofty bowers
Hast sooth'd and cheer'd my soul, oppress'd by woe!
Thine many a potent spell to wing the hours,
And in Life's winter, bid the Spirit glow:
Yes, e'en tho' Sorrow aid the frost of Time
To blight the forms of Fancy as they rise,
Till all of Great, of Lovely, of Sublime,
Is view'd with tearful, tho' admiring eyes.
High on thy mountain-eminence I stand
Or range the lawuy walk that zones its brow,
See vales and woods and lesser hills expand,
As in a map, the verdant steep below.
Pledges of Life, see Villas throng'd acquire
Sweet power to socialize the blooming plains;
Pledges of LIFE ETERNAL, many a Spire
Turn to the orient Sun its golden vanes!
While yonder, stretching far its amber line,
Dividing England from the Cambrian strand,
Wide in the blush of morning rolls the * Brine,
That bears our commerce to each distant Land.
These, view'd from the rich bowers, that deck thy hill,
Or from thy gay *Veranda's light arcade,
With thrilling transport must the bosom fill,
If hope and peace its secret sense pervade.
On me the various Landscape shines in vain,
Since the Grave's iron slumber seals those eyes,
Now that must never view thy bright domain,
Or meet thy rays of genius as they rise;
Each generous kindness, worth without alloy;
Meet them and blend with them congenial fires!
O! in that thought my sensible of joy
Sinks in my breast, and, ere it warms, expires,
Nor yet the Tuscan splendors of thy walls,
Where all of elegance and art unite
To charm the eye, that vanish'd sense recalls;-
No, not one spark of its extinguish'd light!
But when I see thee, Friend, thus high uprais'd,
Above pale Envy's reach, on Fortune's shrine;
And when my eyes have on these blessings gaz'd,
Which for thy heart the wreaths of Comfort twine;
When all her soften'd emanations live
In the consoling sweetness of thy smiles,
Milton uses Brine for the Sea.
"The air was calm, and on the level Brine,
"Sleek Panope and all her Sisters play'd."
* A Tuscan Colonade roofed.
Then from thy joys my joyless hours receive
Reflected peace, that transiently beguiles;
Beguiles to sweet forgetfulness the grief
That dim in deprivation shrouds my heart;
Mine, while life still is mine, be that relief
A Friend's dear bliss now only can impart!
Long be thy gentle Consort the mild light,
Shedding content o'er all thy waning days!
And may they stretch with long protracted flight,
And bear to HEAVEN thy grateful, pious praise!
And may Distemper's mist from thee and thine,
Thy lovely Frances, and thy faithful Wife,
Fly, like the rain when Summer mornings shine,
Nor stain with one pale cloud thy eve of life!
Edwy, farewell! to Lichfield's darken'd grove,
With aching heart, and rising sighs, I go;
Yet bear a grateful spirit, as I rove,
For all of thine which balm'd a cureless woe.
BY THE REV. J. WHITEHOUSE.
HERE sleeps FIDELIA; she was humbly born,
And poor, but virtues of no common rank,
Such as might grace the proudest Monarch's dome,
A mind enlightened, and a feeling heart
Were her's-But most, soft PITY graced the maid,
And I have heard her oft caution the step
Of the unwary passenger, if chance
A worm lay in his path, in Mercy's name,
Not to tread on it. All the neighbourhood
Could tell how gentle, and how good she was
To all dumb creatures.
For her's were not affected sympathies,
Nor nerves like those of some romantic Miss,
That thrill not, but to well-imagined tales
Of fancied woe; to Misery's real pang
Callous. She had not learnt to exchange the pure
And warm affections of the untainted heart,
For modish sensibility-Her soul
Was simple Nature, and her teacher God.
Therefore she lived, and died, a sainted Maid,
Pure from contamination of foul sin,
And unpolluted by the world, through which
She passed, like some translucent stream, that winds
Through fields and fertile vallies; and her name
Is as the essence of the vernal rose
That scents to Heaven, when its soft hues are fled, And all its beauties withered!
Children of innocence, whoe'er ye are,
Blessed are ye! For when at midnight hour,
The bridegroom cometh, ye shall then be found
With your lamps burning, ready to sit down
In company of those five virgins wise
With Him, at his high-marriage feast, and dwell
For ever, with the saints redeemed, in light.
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