THE STATUE OF THE DYING GLADIATOR. BY E. CHINNERY, ESQ. WILL then no pitying sword its succour lend To free the' unconquered mind, whose generous power Bowed low, and full of death, his head declines, Think not with terror heaves that sinewy breast,- His proud soul wrestles with o'ermastering fate; At once by death, death's lingering power to brave, Unfeared is now that cord which oft ensnared As if in silent agony he prayed : "Oh might I yet, by one avenging blow, Not shun my fate, but share it with my foe!" Vain hope! the streams of life-blood fast descend, H Yet shall he scorn, procumbent, to betray One dastard sign of anguish or dismay; With one weak plaint to shame his parting breath, In pangs sublime, magnificent in death! But his were deeds unchronicled; his tomb No patriot wreathes adorn, to cheer his doom; No soothing thoughts arise of duties done, Of trophied conquests for his country won; And he, whose sculptured form gave deathless fame To Ctesilas-he dies without a name! Haply to grace some Cæsar's pageant pride When Rome, degenerate Rome, for barbarous shows Sold all that freemen prize as great and good, NEWSTEAD WOODS. BY WILLIAM HOWITT. How pleasantly the sun, this summer day, A WOMAN'S FAREWELL. THE waves are all at rest on yon river's shining breast, "Tis now that silent hour when love hath deepest power How can I then but choose at such an hour to muse With fondest regret on the days that have flown; For all seems wildly changed since hand in hand we ranged By the green, winding banks of the gleaming Garonne ! What darkly-chequered years, what passionate hopes and fears, Yet believe me, love, in this,-though in moments of bliss Forgive me if I deemed Fate kinder than she seemed, Was loss of wealth severe, when a fond one was near Or vexations all must bear, worth a thought or a care Which a kiss-and thou 'st owned it-a kiss could remove? What are life's petty ills, its hectics or its chills, Do they trench on affection, or wither its flowers! No: in hearts with feeling warm, love's the bow of the storm, Which grows deeper and brighter the faster it showers. Though keen and bitter woes have troubled our repose, Why did we ever part? Sorrow had not a dart Some have said that passion's storm will oft thy soul deform, But to me thou hast ever been gentle and calm: Some have said hate oft hath wrung bitter accents from thy tongue, But to me have thy words been as music and balm. Let them rail, let them rail! those who credit their tale Thus will it ever be, on the world's troubled sea, When two fond ones are cleaving in concert their way, Though clouds sometimes may hide them, and tempests divide, They 'll be nearer than e'er when the rack drives away! In life's unclouded spring, as on Pleasure's light wing, Thou wert then at that age when the stormy passions rage Though Fortune was unkind, to thy merits ever blind, In the casket of thy soul, beyond Fortune's control, There were gems of more value than gauds of this earth ; And for rank thou could'st vie with the highest of the high, For thy heart sure was princely, whate'er was thy birth. Feelings lofty and refined, golden gifts of the mind, Were the rank and the riches most precious to me; And, but that words are weak, and the heart may not speak, I would tell what a treasure I met with in thee. What is wealth, what is wealth, could it purchase me health? We together oft have past, whenever fate's chilling blast Surely not, surely not! Life's light ills were forgot; But the sun has looked his last, and the day is fading fast, |