Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, Th' unwelcome messenger of fate Half kill'd with anger and surprise, 'Tis six and forty years at least, And you are now fourscore! "So much the worse," the clown rejoin'd; 66 To spare the aged would be kind; Beside, you promis'd me Three Warnings, Which I have look'd for nights and mornings!" "I know, cries Death, "that at the best, I seldom am a welcome guest; But don't be captious, friend, at least: 66 "This is a shocking story, faith: But there's some comfort still," says Death. "Each strives your sadness to amuse; I warrant you hear all the news. "There's none, " cried he: "and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear. Nay, then; "the spectre stern rejoin'd, "Cease, prythee, cease these foolish yearnings; If you are deaf, and lame, and blind, You've had your three sufficient warnings; Yields to his fate. So ends my tale. MRS. THRALE. FAREWELL TO A MISSIONARY. HOME, kindred, friends, and country, these And yet 'tis hard to feel resign'd, But when the pilgrim's staff we take, Press on, and only look before; Though humbled nature mourns her loss, It is no sin, like man, to weep, Ev'n Jesus wept o'er Lazarus dead; Or yearn for home beyond the deep, He had not where to lay his head; The patriot's tears will he condemn, Who griev'd o'er lost Jerusalem ! Take up your cross, and say "Farewell: Go forth without the camp to Him, Who left heaven's throne with men to dwell, Oh! tell his name in every ear, Doubt not, - the dead themselves will hear, Hear, and come forth to life anew; Then, while the Gentile courts they fill, Shall not your Saviour's words stand true? Home, kindred, friends, and country still, In earth's last desert you shall find, Yet lose not those you left behind. J. MONTGOMERY. CRESCENTIUS. 1 I LOOK'D upon his brow, no sign Of guilt or fear was there; He stood as proud by that death-shrine He had a power; in his eye There was a quenchless energy, A spirit that could dare The deadliest form that death could take, In the minority of Otho III. the Romans made a bold attempt to shake off the yoke of the German emperors, and to recover their ancient form of government. Crescentius, a noble Roman, was their leader. He twice rose to the command of the city, under the title of consul, and, during the sixteen years that he administered affairs, Rome enjoyed comparative peace and security. Crescentius refused to acknowledge the authority of the emperor to interpose in the election of the popes; expelled John XV. until he had acknowledged the sovereignty of the people, and when, on his He stood, the fetters on his hand, He rais'd them haughtily; And had that grasp been on the brand, With freer pride than it wav'd now. The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, I saw him once before; he rode And tens of thousands throng'd the road, His helm, his breast-plate, were of gold, The sun shone on his sparkling mail, But now he stood chain'd and alone, The plume, the helm, the charger gone; death, Otho sent Gregory V. to succeed him, Crescentius chose one himself. In 998 Otho marched against Rome, besieged and took the city, and crushed all further resistance by the execution of Crescentius, who had shut himself in the castle of St. Angelo, and had surrendered himself only on the promise of safety. Such is the patriot hero Sismondi makes of Crescentius, but the annals of the tenth century are involved in obscurity, and the German historians represent him in different characters. P He bent beneath the headsman's stroke A wild shout from the numbers broke Rome's wail above her only son, MISS LANDON. WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER. THERE, in that bed so closely curtain'd round, He stirs yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise; THE CLOSING YEAR. THE closing year a startling sound, ROGERS. E'en when on youthful ear 'tis pealing, For, oh! as time completes his round, This thought must o'er the breast be stealing - Another rose has pass'd away. |