Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread; Ah; what was then Llewellyn's pain? Vain, vain, was all Llewellyn's woe- And, now, a gallant tomb they raise, Here never could the spearman pass, And, here, he hung his horn, and spear; In Fancy's piercing sounds, would hear, And, till great Snowdon's rocks grow old, The consecrated spot shall hold, The name of-" Gelert's Grave." CLARISSA'S PRAYER. A youthful fair, who scarce the honey Ah, me; that all my promis'd bliss, Death who Clarissa's prayers had heard, Soon as the TENDER WIFE he spies; THE LOVER'S RELIEF. Love's in truth a mighty blessing, When the fair one we're possessing: But tormenting is the pain, When the proud one scorns the swain. What at first was meant to bless us, By fond fools does but distress us! To sigh and sob, and to be sad, Is not to love; but to be mad! Tho' sly Cupid fires my breast, He shall never break my rest; For dear, shou'd you grieve me, Honest Bacchus shall relieve me. K. B. ON SENDING A BLANK LETTER TO A FRIEND. I send thee again, this, thy cargo of Wit; ""Twas all thou could'st spare-so the "Biter is Bit." No wonder, indeed, thou should'st play this odd prank, Since all men agree that thy Brain is a Blank. A THOUGHT. How, like the fleeting wind, away, WALTZING. Get all the Ladies that you can, Round and round, and never stopping, When you're wrong, to make things worse, SEPTENNIAL DIVISION OF TIME. The Seven first Years of Life, man's break of day, Gleams of short sense, a dawn of thought display: When Fourteen Springs have bloom'd his downy cheek, His soft and bashful meanings, learn to speak; From Twenty-one, proud manhood takes its date; Yet is not strength complete till Twentyeight. Thence to his Five-and-thirtieth, life's gay fire Sparkles, burns bright, and flames in fierce desire; At Forty-two, his eyes grave wisdom wear, And the dark future dims him o'er with care; With Forty-nine, behold his toils increase, And busy hopes and fears disturbs his peace; At Fifty-six, cool reason reigns entire A DECLARATION OF LOVE. In vain my heart may strive to rove,— Betsey, 'tis you alone I love; More than Loyalist their King, More than Passage-birds the Spring; More than Courtiers do a Place, More than Anabaptist's Grace; More than Miser's hoarded Treasure, More than 'Prentice-boys their Pleasure; More than Topers t'other Bottle, More than Epicures to Guttle; More than Mountebanks a Throng, More than Sportsmen love a Song; More than wanton Minx her Cull, More than Food when Belly's full; More than Turtle-dove its Mate, More than Lords to rule a State; More than Cattle do the Rill, Sun-burnt driv'n from the Hill; More than Ladies' Tittle-tattle, More than Cowards shun a Battle; More than Sailors wish for Land, When a Storm is nigh at hand; And tho' thou wilt not smile on me, More than all Things, I love thee. "DUMPS IN A CORNER." TO ELIZA. To meet the scorching sun; 'Ere night thy with'ring head may stoop, And all thy shining glories droop, Lost, faded, and undone! Better within the secret shade, ON A BEE STIFLED IN HONEY. Is is in the sweets she hoards to die. 'Tis thus, would man the truth believe, Merses. A WELSH WEDDING. To the Editor of the Tickler Magazine. [The weddings of the Welsh are usually attended by all the neighbours, sometimes to the number of thirty or upwards. After the ceremony, the day is dedicated to festivity, and is chiefly spent in singing and drinking. At a wedding in the little church of Llauberis, I observed in the church as many as twenty or five-and-twenty attendants. A collection is made on their return to the house, to defray the expences of the occasion, to which, of course, every one contributes. A good idea of the rest of the business may be collected from a pleasant account of a wedding-feast in Cwm-y-Clo, near Llanberis.] A FIRE of peats, which, sufficiently dried, Was spread on the hearth, and at least four feet wide; O'er this fire took their station, six kettles, "Twas perfectly needful the guests should be seated: Loose boards were erected on stones, with great art, But proving too hard for a certain broad part, A number of cushions were instantly made, But not with a needle-no, formed with a spade, The finest of ling, root and branch, from the common, Par'd off, prov'd a cushion for man and for woman. Now folks, male and female, came in by whole dozens, Of neighbours, acquaintance, of friends, and of cousins It excited surprise from a region of rocks, That orderly people should issue by flocks. Black stockings, blue cloaks, and men's hats all admire, Which appear'd to be every female's attire.* "The dress of the Welsh women is exactly similar throughout the principality, and consists of these particulars :-a petticoat of flannel, the manufacture of the country, either blue or striped; a kind of bed-gown with loose sleeves, of the same stuff, but generally of a brown colour; a broad handkerchief over the neck and shoulders; a neat mob cap, and a man's beaver hat. In dirty, or cold weather, the person is wrapped in a long blue cloak, which descends below the knee."-Warner's Walk through Wales, in 1797. And then a third set, nearly equal to these, Besides about fifty remaining behind, And now an old dish open'd wide at each sinner, As if it would say "Pay a shilling for dinner." Eight strike of brown malt, which Caernarvon had seen, And cost the bride's father two pounds and fourteen, Was brew'd into drink that would make one man mad, But, given a second, would make his heart glad. Each quart brought back sixpence, and that pretty soon; This cot was a public-house that afternoon. The glass going round-no-the mug I should say, The lads and the lasses began to look gay, To smile on each other, to toy and to joke I was an observer, but not a word spoke. The people selected, and pairing began, Each lass was indulged with the choice of her man; Than Amazons, more than like fairies, were seen, Full thirty gay couple to dance on the 71 Where'er I plant one blooming flower, "From sorrows past my chemic skill GOOD-BYE replied, "Your statement's true "Without my prior influence, Could your's have ever flourish'd? Concealment be the fashion, "How oft, when Cupid's fires decline, Revives the dying embers! "Go, bid the timid lover choose, And I'll resign the charter, "From love and frien Iship's kindred source And they would both lose half their force "Tis well the world our merit knows, Since time (there's no denying) One half in How-D'YE-DOING goes, The sea which was so calm before, Thus the world's kind to him, on whom G. GLUM. From Mr. HAINES's New Tragedy Elmisa. Methought you spoke of death. Lorenzo. Yes, I was thinking That all must die. Kings, Princes,must obey The freezing call-Statesmen must one day stoop To pay their court to the despotic tomb, Lawyers must there refund the fee of life, Heroes unarm'd, forgetting sieges, battles, Must, far from glory, and the sound of praise, Take their last station-Inspir'd Orators Must shun the Multitude, whose Mind they made, And cleave to silence and oblivion- And at the summons quit Castalia's spring The following beautiful verses are f om an unpublished Opera, by the celebrated Mr. Campbell, Author of the " Pleasures of Hope." It will be seen from these specimens, that the Poet still retains much of that intense pathos which dictated in his younger days, the "Exile of Erin," "Lochiel's Warning," &c. ABSENCE. "Tis not the loss of love's assurance, It is not doubting what thou art; But 'tis the too, too long, endurance Of absence, that afflicts my heart. The fondest thoughts twohearts can cherish, What tho' untouch'd by jealous madness, Our bosom's peace may fall to wreck; Th' undoubting heart, that breaks with sadnesss, Is but more slowly doom'd to break. Absence!-is not the soul torn by it, From more than light or life or breath? 'Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet, The pain without the peace of death. TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth, Merely to shew your worth, And lose you quite. But you are, lovely leaves, where we THE MAID'S REMONSTRANCE Never wedding, ever wooing, Rivals banish'd, bosom's plighted, Now half-quench'd appears, Charms you call your dearest blessing, Soon you'll make them grow London: Printed and Published for the Proprietors by G. MORGAN, 42, Holywell Street, Strand.-May be had also of SHERWOOD, NEELY, and JONES, Paternoster-row ; SIMPKIN and MARSHALL, Stationer's-court; and of all other Book sellers. |