Words of despair! yet earth's, all earth's-the woo To watch, in dying hope, affection's wane, To waste the untold riches of the heart No more! No more! On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean, No more! Words of triumphant music-bear we on The weight of life, the chain, the ungenial air; THOUGHT FROM AN ITALIAN POET. And some deceived, and some are with the dead. PASSING AWAY. "Passing away" is written on the world, and all the world contains. Ir is written on the rose, In its glory's full array— "Jamais, jamais, je ne serai aimé comme j'aime," was a mounful expression of Madame de Staël's. Of the soft blue summer day; "Passing away." It is written on the trees, As their young leaves glistening play It is written on the brow Passing away." 279 THE ANGLER.* "I in these flowery meads would be; I with my angle would rejoice ; * And angle on, and beg to have A quiet passage to a welcome grave.”—Isaac Walton. THOU that hast loved so long and well The vale's deep quiet streams, Shedding forth tender gleams; This, and the following poem, were originally written for a work entitled Death's Doings, edited by Mr. Alaric Watts. And o'er the pool the May-fly's wing Oh! lone and lovely haunts are thine, One gliding vein of heaven's own blue. And there but low sweet sounds are heard The whisper of the reed, The plashing trout, the rustling bird, Yet, through the murmuring osiers near, 'Tis not the stag, that comes to lave, 'Tis not the bittern, by the wave Seeking her sedgy nest; The air is fill'd with summer's breath, The young flowers laugh-yet look! 'tis death But if, where silvery currents rove, If holy thoughts thy guests have been, Then, lover of the silent hour, By deep lone waters past, Thence hast thou drawn a faith, a power, And, wont on brighter worlds to dwell, DEATH AND THE WARRIOR. “Ay, warrior, arm! and wear thy plume I am the lord of the lonely tomb, "Bid thy soul's love farewell, young chief- Like the morning's dew shall pass that grief- Thy bark may rush through the foaming deep But they bear thee on to a place of sleep, SONG FOR AIR BY HUMMEL. "Was the voice I heard, thy voice, oh Death! Then on the field shall my life's last breath "Banners shall float, with the trumpet's note, And the palm-tree wave o'er my noble grave, High hearts shall burn in the royal hall, "Warrior! thou bear'st a haughty heart, But I can bend its pride! How should'st thou know that thy soul will part "It may be far from thy steel-clad bands, It may be lone on the desert sands, "It may be deep amidst heavy chains, I have slow dull steps and lingering pains, "Death, Death! I go to a doom unblest, But the Cross is bound upon my breast, "Sound, clarion, sound!—for my vows are given 281 SONG FOR AIR BY HUMMEL. OH! if thou wilt not give thine heart, For if in thine I have no part, Why should mine dwell with thee?* Yet no! this mournful love of mine, I will not from me cast; Let me but dream 'twill win me thine, • The first verse of this song is a literal translation from the Ger Can aught so fond, so faithful, live TO THE MEMORY OF LORD CHARLES MURRAY, SON OF THE DUKE OF ATHOLL, WHO DIED IN THE CAUSE, AND LA MENTED BY THE PEOPLE OF GREECE. "Time cannot teach forgetfulness, When grief's full heart is fed by fame."-Byron. THOU should'st have slept beneath the stately pines, weep, Banner and dirge met proudly o'er thy grave, Under that old and glorious Grecian heaven, Which unto death so oft hath lit the brave: And thy dust blends with mould heroic there, With all that sanctifies the inspiring air. Vain voice of fame! sad sound for those that For her, the mother, in whose bosom lone Thy childhood dwells-whose thoughts a record keep, Of smiles departed and sweet accents gone; Of all thine early grace and gentle worthA vernal promise, faded now from earth! But a bright memory claims a proud regretA lofty sorrow finds its own deep springs Of healing balm; and she hath treasures yet, Whose soul can number with love's holy things, A name like thine! Now, past all cloud or spot, A gem is hers, laid up where change is not. THE BROKEN CHAIN. I AM free!--I have burst through my galling chain, I may cleave with my bark the glad sounding sea, |