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But Linden show'd another sight,
From Æthiopia's lofty mountains rollid, When the drum beat at dead of night,
Where Nile's proud stream through gladCommanding fires of death, to light
den'd Egypt pours, The darkness of the scenery.
In raptur'd strains thy praise was hymn'd of old, By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
And still resounds on Ganges' faithful shores! Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
Within thy beauteous coral's full-blown bell And furious every charger neigh'd
Long since the immortals fix'd their fond To join the dreadful revelry :
abode; Then shook the hills by thunder riven; | There day's bright source, Osiris, lov'd to dwell, Then flew the steed to battle driven ;
While' by his side enamour'd Isis glow'd. And rolling like the bolts of heaven,
Hence, not unconscious, to his orient beam Far flash'd their red artillery.
Atdawn's first blush thy radiant petals spread, But redder yet their fires shall glow
Drink deep the effulgence of the solar stream, On Linden's heights of crimson'd snow; And, as he mounts, still brighter glories And bloodier still the torrent flow
shed. Of Iser rolling rapidly.
When at the noon-tide height his fervid rays The combat deepens ! on, ye brave,
In a bright deluge burst on Cairo's spires, Who rush to glory, or the grave!
With what new lustre then thy beauties blaze, Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,
Full of the God, and radiant with his fires And charge with all thy chivalry.
Brilliant thyself, in store of dazzling white 'Tis morn ;-but scarce yon level sun
Thy sister-plants more gaudy robes unfold; Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun,
This fames in purple-that, intensely bright, Where fiery Frank and furious Hun
Amid th' illumin'd waters burns in gold. Shout in their sulphury canopy. Few, few shall part where inany meet;
To brave the tropic's fiery beam is thine,
Till in the distant west his splendors fade; The snow shall be their winding-sheet;
Then too thy beauty and thy fire decline, And every sod beneath their feet
With morn to rise in lovelier charms array'd. Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Thus from Arabia borne, on golden wings,
The Phænix on the sun's bright altar dies;
But from his Aaming bed, refulgent, springs, § 265. A British War-Song.
And cleaves, with bolder plume, the sapphire
skies. Quit the plough, the loom, the mine;
What mystic treasures in thy form conceald Quit the joys the heart entwine!
Perpetual transport to the sage supply; Join our brothers on the brine;
Where Nature, in her deep designs reveald, Arm, ye brave,-or slavery !
Awes wondering man, and charms th' exPeace, so lov'd, away is Aed;
ploring eye! War shall leave his iron bed;
In thy prolific cup and fertile seeds, To your arms, avengers dread!
Are trac'd her grand regenerative powers; Strike, oh strike at tyranny.
Life springing warm from loath'd putrescence For our homes, our all, our name!
breeds, Blast again the tyrant's aim ;
And lovelier germs shoot forth and brighter Britain's wrongs swift vengeance claim;
flowers. Rush to arms--or slavery.
Nor food to the enlightend mind alone, Lo! the shades of Britons proud !
Substantial nutriment thy root bestow'd; Hear them in yon fitting cloud !
In famine's vulture-fangs did Egypt groan, “ Freedom, children, or a shroud,"
From thy rich bounteous horn abundance Choose with British bravery.
flow'd. Heroes of the sea, the shore,
Hence the immortal race in Thebes rever'd, Quit your laurell'd rest once more;
Thy praise the theme of endless rapture made, Dreadly rouse the battle's roar,
Thy image on a hundred columns reard, Vengeance hurl on tyranny !
And veil'd their altars with thine hallowd
But far beyond the bounds of Afric borne, § 266. The Lotos of Egypt; a Poem. By the
Thy honors flourish'd 'mid Thibetian snows; Rev. T. MAURICE.
ine | Thy Aowers the Lama's gilded shrine adorn,
And Boodh and Bramah on thy stalk repose. Emblea sublime of that primordial power, Where'er fair Science dawn'd on Asia's shore,
That brooded o'er the vast chaotic wave, Where'er her hallow'd voice Devotion rais'd, Accept my duteous bomage, holy flower, We see thee graven on the golden ore,
As in thy favorite flood my limbs I lave. And on a thousand sparkling gems emblaz'd.
Child of the sun, why droops thy withering | “And ah!" said the youth, "since to-morrow head,
Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, And with her genius quench'd thy native fire? Some other will court you, and you will bestow For, direr than her desert's burning wind, On a wealthier suitor your hand."
Gaul's furious legions sweep yon ravag'd vale; “Oh, hush these suspicions,"fair Imogene said, Death stalks before, grim Famine howls behind, “So hurtful to love and to me;
And screams of horror load the tainted gale. For if you be living, or if you be dead, Nile's crimson'd waves with blood polluted roll: | I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead Her groves, her fanes, devouring fire con
Shall husband of Imogene be. suines;
| “Andife'er for another my heart should decide, But mark, slow-rising near the distant pole, Forgetting Alonzo the Brave,
A sudden splendor all her shores illumes. God grant that to punish my falsehood and pride, Fatal to Gaul, 'tis Britain's rising star,
Thy ghost at my marriage may sit by my side, That in the south the bright ascendant gains,
May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, Resplendent as her Sirius shines from far,
And bear me away to the grave."
His love she lamented him sore;
But scarce had a twelvemonth elaps'd, when Defies the tropic storm, the faithless wave,
behold, And hurls destruction on their haughty foes.
| A baron, all cover'd with jewels and gold,
Arriv'd at fair Imogene's door. Exulting to his source old Nilus hears
| His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain, The deep'ning thunders of the British live:
Soon made her untrue to her vows, Again its lovely head the Lotos rears,
He dazzled her eyes, he bewilder'd her brain, Again the fields in rainbow glories shine.
| He caught her affections, so light and so vain, Still wider, beauteous plant! thy leaves extend, And carried her home as his spouse.
Nor dread the eye of an admiring muse; In union with the rising song ascend,
And now had the marriage been blest by the Spread all thy charms, and all thy sweets
The tables they groan'd with the weight of the Of that bold race heneath the Pleïads born,
feast, To chant thy praise a northern bard aspires; Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceas'd, Nor with more ardòr erst at early dawn
Wuen the bell of the castle toll'd-ONE! The Theban artists smote their votive lyres. 'Twas then with amazement fair Imogene found For, oh! can climes th'excursive genius bound? A stranger was placed by her side; • Na'mid Siberia bursts the heav'n-taught His air was terrific, he utter'd no sound, strain,
| He spoke not, he mov'd not, he look'd not At either pole the Muse's songs resound,
around, And snows descend and whirlwinds rage in But earnestly gaz'd on the bride. vain.
| His vizor was clos'd, and gigantic his height, Four thousand summers have thy pride survey'd, His armor was sable to view;
Thy Pharaohs moulder in their marble tombs; | All laughter and pleasure were hush'd at his Oblivion's wings the pyramids shall shade,
[affright, But thy fair family unfading blooms ! The dogs as they eyed him drew back with Still 'mid these ruin'd tow'rs admir’d, rever'd, 1 And the lights in the chamber burnt blue.
Wave high thy foliage, and secure expand; His presence all bosoms appear'd to dismay, These vast but crumbling piles by man were The guests sat in silence and fear; rear'd;
At length spoke the bride, while she trembled But thou wert form’d by an immortal hand !
“I pray, With Nature's charins alone thy charms shall | Sir knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, fade ;
And deign to partake of our cheer.” With Being's self thy beauteous tribe decline; The lady is silent--the stranger complies, Oh! living, may thy How'rs my temple shade, And his vizor he slowly unclos’d. And decorate when dead my envied shrine! Oh gods! what a sight met fair Imogene's eyes,
| What words can express her dismay and surprise, $ 267. Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene. | When a skeleton's head was expos'd !
M. G. LEWIS, Esq. All present then utter'd a terrified shout, A WARRIOR so bold, and a virgin so bright, And turn'd with disgust from the scene; Convers’d as they sat on the green :
The worms they crept in, and the worms they They gaz'd on each other with tender delight, crept out, Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight, And sported his eyes and his temples about, The maid was the Fair Imogene.
| While the spectre address'd Imogene:
“Behold me, thou false one! behold me!” he | To think that time so soon each sweet devours, cried,
To think so soon life's first endearments fail, “ Behold thy Alonzo the Brave.
| And we are duped by Hope's amusive tale; God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and Who like a flatterer, when the happiest hours pride,
Are past, and most we wish her cheering lay, Myghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side, Will fly as faithless and as fleet as they! Should tax thee with perjury,claim thee as bride,
And bear thee away to the grave."
While fair Imogene shriek'd with dismay; If chance some pensive stranger hither led, Then sunk with his prey through the wide- His bosom glowing from majestic views, yawning ground,
The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape Nor ever again was fair Imogene found,
hues, Or the spectre that bore her away.
Should ask who sleeps beneath this lonely bed, Not long liv'd the baron, and none since that! "Tis poor Matilda! To the cloisterd scene, To inhabit the castle presume: , [time
| A mourner beauteous and unknown, she came, For chronicles tell, that by order sublime,
To shed her tears unmark'd, and quench the There Imogene suffers the pains of her crime,
flame And mourns her deplorable doom.
Of ruthless love: yet still her look serene
As the pale moonlight in the midnight aisle. At midnight four times in each year does her Her voice was soft, which yet a charm could sprite,
lend When mortals in slumber are bound,
Like that which spoke of a departed friend, Array'd in her bridal apparel of white,
| And a meek sadness sat upon her smile! Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight,
Be the rude spot by passing pity blest, And shriek as he whirls her around.
Where, hush'd to long repose, the wretched While they drink out of skulls newly torn from rest.
the grave, Dancing round them pale spectres are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave
$ 271. Sonnet. Bowles. They howl: “ To the health of Alonzo the Orime, thou know'st a lenient hand to lay Braye,
Softest on sorrow's wounds, and slowly thence And his consort, the false Imogene." . (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
The faint pang stealest unperceiv d away; :. $268. Sonnet. Bowles.
On thee I rest my only hope at last,
And think, when thou hast dried the bitter icar Whose was that gentle voice, that whisper- | That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, ing sweet,
I may look back on ev'ry sorrow past, Promis'd, methought, long days of bliss sincere? And meet life's peaceful evening with a smileSoothing it stole on my deluded ear,
As some lone bird at day's departing hour Most like soft music that mightsometimes cheat! Sings in the sunbeam of the transient showT, Thoughts dark and drooping. "Twas the voice Forgetful though its wings are wet the wbile; of Hope.
Yet ah! how much must that poor heart Of love and social scenes it seem'd to speak,
endure, Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek; | Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, That hand in hand along life's downward
a cure! slope Might walk with peace, and cheer the tranquil hours:
$ 272. The Tunbridge School Boy. Spolenty Ah me! the prospect sadden'd as she sung: Mr. Thomas Knox at the annual Iisulation Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung: of Tunbridge School. Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers | Sweet is thy month, O Maia! nor less sweet She built--whilst pointing to yon breathless Life's earliest prime, when roseate blossomsblow clay,
[away!" | In Fancy's fairy meads, the Elysian fields She cried, “No peace be thine away, of infantine illusion, on the breast
Of boys, who court, like us, the classic Muse, $ 269. Sonnet. Bowles.
And daily sip the dews of Castalie.
Happy the school-boy! did he prize his bliss, As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds, 'Twere all exchang’d for all the dazzling gerns Still on that vision which is flown I dwell! That gaily sparkle in ambition's eye;
On images I lor'd, (alas, how well!) His are the joys of nature, his the smile, Now past, and but remember'd like sweet sound The cherub smile, of innocence and health,
Of yesterday! yet in my breast I keep Sorrow unknown, or if a tear be shed, Such recollections, painful though they seem ; | He wipes it soon; for hark! the cheerful voice And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream Of comrades calls him to the top, or ball.
I wake, and find them not: then I could weep | Away he hies, and clamors as he goes
With glee, which causes him to tread on air ; | Is simple; yet 'tis nature's voice, and comes Bounding along elastic to the field,
Directly from the heart ;--and to the heart Or play-ground, scarce the well-stuff'd leathern It deeply pierces; I could weep, and smile orb
To think I wept-how plaintive are the notes! Springs from the earth so light, so swift as he : Like such as oft I hear the nightingale And well he earns the sport he well enjoys,
Modestly warble from the thickest shade, For from the morning's dawn o'er learning's Concealment seeking, yet betray'd by tones His steady eye has por'd till eventide. [page Softer and sweeter than Italia's sons Early he woke; and scarce had chanticleer Strain from their throats to raptur'd theatres, Announc'd Aurora's orient blushing beams, But not to ode and elegy alone When from the turret of the classic dome His ardor leads; his emulative skill The bell importunate rang shrill and loud, | In epigram he tries; and many a point And call'd him from his pillow; up he sprang, Inserts which Martial might not blush to own. Shaking soft slumbers from his shining eyes, With classical expression neat and terse. And eager to renew his daily task.
Oft on the banks of Medway, near the dome First lowly op his knees with orisons Of Sydney's noble race, he sits reclind, His Father high in heaven he supplicates And meditates the verse where Waller sat To bless his earthly sire, her that bore him, And sung his Sacharissa ; by his side Friends, tutors, all that watch with anxious care Horace and Ovid. While the trembling reed To guide his footsteps in the paths of peace: With fly appendant lures the golden chub. Then to the limpid spring he hies, and laves | His pencil in his hand, he studious notes In the cold element his morning face.
Some bright idea, or some polish'd phrase His fowing locks well kempt, all neat and fresh / Suggested by the Muse that haunts the groves As vernal violets wash'd with drops of dew, of Penshurst, classic ground: if Britain's isle He takes his seat upon the classic bench,. Can boast such ground, then Penshurst's is the With Lily's volume duly op'd before him,
, (scream And cons the task to memory assign'd, Though solitude now reigns, and the heron's Repeating rules of grammar o'er and o'er Drowns with the din each song of Philomel. With patience unsubdued; but now and then The task well finish'd, to the master's eye He sweetens toil with gingerbread's nice cates, The stripling bard submits with anxious heart, Or apples par'd unseen beneath the form, Happy, thrice happy could it meet with praise. Or conversation softly interchang'd
His bosom throbs, till soon the judge's brows, Of nests, and slides, and marbles, weighty cares, That frown'd terrific, gentler looks assume: Yet not unpleasing. Soon the busy school. He calls the urchin with a friendly voice, Glows with a general hum, as when in May | And stroking his curl'd locks, « 'Tis good." The bees go forth to rifle honey'd flowers,
he cries, They buz and murmur, yet no labor slight, “And to reward thy well done task I grant Bat bring home luscious loads to enrich the hive. A holiday." Straight all the air resounds The morning part well said, new cares suc “ A holiday !" loud shouts from infant lips ceed;
Proclaim a holiday! they eager rush For now the authors of a golden age,
To snatch the licens'd joy; each moment lost Virgil and Horace, Tully's copious page, Seems like an hour, Then take, O take your fill, And Homer's manly melody, invite
Ye innocent tribes, nor let severity The ear attun'd by nature and by art,
Too rigorous rob you of the fleeting day: To revel in the luxury of verse,
"Tis brief at best, and hardly shall ye know Or prose well measur'd, fraught with sense and In life's most boasted years a purer bliss sound
| Or more exalted. Fly then o'er the lawn, Harmonious; polish'd is his ear, and keen | Climb yonder hill-expatiate through the grove, His intellect, he hears, he tastes, he feels, Or from the green bank plunge into the wave. Till his whole soul elate with ecstasy, | Why need I urge? already they are gone; Catching the flame of genius, boldly dares Some in the limpid stream already merg'd, To emulate the beauty he admires :
Their pastime take, and cleave the ambient Hence in the evening exercise the theme Or buoyant on the surface float supine, (wave, Pregnant with moral truth, express'd in style Sporting like halcyons on the smooth expanse. Purely Augustan; one day sure to grace
Thus nerv'd with added strength they urge the The bar, the pulpit, or the author's page,
By nature's pencil with a thousand dyes.
• Sir Arthur Judd, the founder.
Oh! my companions! rob not the poor bird, Hovers around their pillows; rivers, groves, For many a pang she feels; but be content Bird's-nests on tops of tallest trees are seen, With viewing the fair prize, and leave it there. With callow young, or eggs of varied hue; Sweetly the song from yonder hawthorn bush Goldfinches, larks, or linnets, lim'd with twigs, Shall pay your generous pity as you pass ; Or snar'd in traps, or gudgeons on the hook. And conscious virtue shall a bliss bestow, The orchard's charms with added lures appear: Which rapine, though successful, never tastes, | Already up the tree they seize the prize; Though India's gems enrich the plunderer. There plumns and pippins, pears of freshest hue, Trust not in wrong and robbery for happi Clusters of grapes, no longer out of reach, ness;
Distil nectareous juices on their lips, Nor, when autumnal suns the pensile fruit Which seem to smack again: so strong and Mature and on the southern garden-wall
true Blushes the nectar'd peach like Hebe's cheek, Imagination's pencil paints the scene. O'erleap the fence. Oh, turn thy roving eye Thus cheer'd by slumbers and a holiday, From orchards rich with vegetable gold, With double diligence they ply the task The pippin and the pear; and learn, like me, Upon the morrow : then vacation's good, The ripen'd cherry, shining, sleek, and plump, / When to ingenuous minds allow'd it gives To view with all the stoic's apathy.
A spur to industry, and to genius fire. I hate the purple cluster of the grape
Rest and alternate labour, these combin'd When, out of reach, it peeps between the leaves With discipline, shall form the emulous youth Half shown and half conceal'd, to tempt the To high accomplishments in liberal arts; more.
And when his friends and country call himn forth Insidious beauty! Comrade, touch it not: To generous services in busy life, If e'er in evil hour thou pluck the fruit | With energetic force he acts his part, Unlawful, thou shalt rue it, short-liv'd sweet | And strict propriety, in every place, Follow'd by bitterness. The owner sees However arduous, in the social sphere. Unseen, and tells the master of thy theft. Happy and honord, prominent he stands Then lo, the birchen fasces-hateful twigs; I Among the sons of men; and lustre Alings Down go the galligaskins; sighs and sobs Back on the place where education stored Too plainly tell what penalties and woes His mind with arts that taught him to excel. Brings disobedience, and the tempting fruit Pardon my daring, if amid this group Of that forbidden tree. Then learn content: Of school-boys, who, beneath your fostering A little weekly stipend is thine own,
smiles, And freely use it, as it was given for use. The muses, graces, virtues, cultivate, Does thy mouth water? See the matron's stall, I venture to foretell that, spurning ease, Plums, nuts, and apples, rang'd in shining Some shall emerge, and add to the renown rows,
| Or Tunbridge school; an ancient hoary seat Invite, nor rigid Prudence bids forbear; Of classic institution, favour'd long There purchase, paying ready cash, and eat, By patronage of men whose liberal souls, Welcome as nuts to thee thy mite to her. | Amid the cares of gain, commercial toils, Enjoy thy feast, poor imp, and freely taste, Chief cause of Britain's proud pre-eminence, No fears or qualms empois'ning the regale ; Still find an hour to listen to the muse, Then, with sight heart, and pockets lighter still, And honor arts which seek no sordid pelf, Eas'd of thy money-root of every harm! But add a grace to life, and build up man. Away again to drive the circling hoop,
O'tis a noble edifice; and here Or spin the top, or knuckle down at taw. The solid basis must be firmly laid
But now the shades of eve and turret bell In elemental lore. The pious Judd Proclaim the holiday too soon expird
Some centuries past here plac'd the corner-stone: “In boys! all in, boys!" Instant to the school His sons, disdaining to degenerate, Repairing, low they bend to that high Pow'r Support and deck the pile. 'Tis vobly done, That guards them from the sultry noon-tide | And merits praise, which, though our hearts heat,
(due. The pestilence that walketh in the night, Our tongues want words to speak in language And out of mouths of sucklings and of babes A school-boy!-you've heard my artless tale; Ordained praise. The choral hymn and pray'r 'Tis a true picture of my simple life; Ascends like incense to the throne of heaven. Then how should I in language adequate
And now all weary, and with eyes half-clos'd, Describe your merits? "Tis a copious theme, Down on the couch they sink, nor sooner | And asks a genius, as your bounty large. down,
But this I know, instructed in the arts Than sleep seals up their lids : how hush'd the Of elegance and taste beneath this roof, din,
And cherish'd by your smiles, the day may The merry noise that echoed o'er the field
eome The live long day! "Tis silent all and still When I may strike the lyre with manly grace, Along the chambers of the dormitory, And justify the favour which c'en now Save where a gentle breathing soothes the ear, Indulgence, blinding judgement, has bestow'd. Or now and then a voice that talks in sleep : Tunbridge, May 9, 1802.
T.K. For many a vision, or fantastic dream,