Nets shall scour the stream at night,
By the cold moon's trusty light ;-
Scores of fish will not surprise her,

Writhing with their glittering scale ;
She'll look on, none else the wiser,

Give us light, and tell no tales ;
And next day the sporting squire
Of his own trout shall be the buyer.
Till the farmer catch us out,
Prowling his rich barns about ;-
Till the squire suspect the fish;

Till the keeper find his hares,

Struggling in our nightly snares ;
Till the girls have ceased to wish,
Heedless what young lad shall be
Theirs in glad futurity ;
Till the boors no longer hold

Awkwardly their rough hands out,
All to have their fortunes told

By the cross lines thereabout ;-
Till these warnings, all or some,
Raise us—(not by beat of drum- !)
On our careless march to roam,

The copse shall be our leafy home.
Literary Gazette.




By Nature formed, at all points, to excel,
All things to do,—write, speak, and all things well,
Transcendent with thy pencil as thy pen,
With this you've conquered women, that the men ;
Both sexes, thus, thy full dominion prove
O’er each ;—by envy this, and this by love;
Both titles too thou'st won, then deign to wear,
We see a Venus, but a Pallas hear!




ADIEO! Romance's heroines !

Give me the nymphs who this good hour May charm me, not in fiction's scenes,

But teach me beauty's living power ;My harp, that has been mute too long,

Shall sleep at beauty's name no more, So but your smiles reward my song,

Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore,

In whose benignant eyes are beaming

The rays of purity and truth, Such as we fancy woman's seeming,

In the creation's golden youth. The more I look upon thy grace,

Rosina, I could look the more, But for Jemima's witching face,

And the sweet voice of Eleanore.

Had I been Lawrence, kings had wanted

Their portraits, till I'd painted yours, And these had future hearts enchanted,

When this poor verse no more endures ;
I would have left the Congress faces,

A dull-eyed diplomatic corps,
Till I had grouped you as the Graces,

Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore.

The Catholic bids fair saints befriend him ;

Your poet's heart is catholic too;
His rosary shall be flowers ye send him,

His saint-days when he visits you ;

And my sere laurels for my duty,

Miraculous, at your touch would rise, Could I give verse one trait of beauty,

Like that which glads me from your eyes.

Unsealed by you, these lips have spoken,

Disused to song for many a day; Ye've tuned a harp whose strings were broken,

And warmed a heart of callous clay ; So when my fancy next refuses,

To twine for you a garland more, Come back again and be my Muses,

Jemima, Rose, and Eleanore. Constable's Edinburgh Magazine.



THE fountains mingle with the river,

And the river with the ocean ;
The vinds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single ;

All things, by a law divine,
In one another's being mingle ;

Why not I with thine ?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another!
No leaf or flower would be forgiven,

If it disdained to kiss its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea :
What are all these kissings worth,

If thou kiss not me?


THE sun went down in beauty ;-not a cloud
Darkened its radiance,--yet there might be seen
A few fantastic vapours scattered o'er
The face of the blue heavens; some fair and slight
As the pure lawn that shields the maiden's breast,
Some shone like silver,--some did stream afar-
Faint and dispersed—like the Pale Horse's mane,
Which Death shall stride hereafter,—some were glittering
Like dolphin's scales, touched out with varying hues
Of beautiful light-outvying some the rose,
And some the violet, yellow, white, and blue,
Scarlet and purpling red.One small lone ship
Was seen with outstretched sails, keeping its way
In quiet o'er the deep; all nature seemed
Fond of tranquillity; the glassy sea
Scarce rippled—the halcyon slept upon the wave;
The winds were all at rest,_and in the east
The crescent moon- _then seen imperfectly-
Came onwards, with the vesper star, to see
A summer day's decline.

The sun went down in beauty ;-but the eyes
Of ancient seamen trembled, when they saw
A small black ominous spot far in the distance:-
It spread, and spread-larger and dark-and came
O’ershadowing the skies ;—the ocean rose;
The gathering waves grew large, and broke in hoarse
And hollow sounds ;—the mighty winds awoke,
And screamed and whistled through the cordage ;_birds,
That seemed to have no home, flocked there in terror,
And sat with quivering plumage on the mast.
Flashes were seen, and distant sounds were heard
Presages of a storm..

The sun went down in beauty_but the skies

Were wildly changed. It was a dreadful night
No moon was seen, in all the heavens, to aid
Or cheer the lone and sea-beat mariner :-
Planet nor guiding star broke through the gloom ;-
But the blue lightnings glared along the waters,
As if the Fiend had fired his torch to light
Some wretches to their graves.—The tempest winds
Raving came next, and in deep hollow sounds
Like those the spirits of the dead do use
When they would speak their evil prophecies
Muttered of death to come ;-then came the thunder,
Deepening and crashing as 'twould rend the world;
Or, as the Deity passed aloft in anger
And spoke to man—despair !—The ship was tossed
And now stood poised upon the curling billows,
And now midst deep and watery chasms-that yawned
As 'twere in hunger_sạnk.–Behind there came
Mountains of moving water,—with a rush
And sound of gathering power, that did appal
The heart to look on ;-terrible cries were heard;
Sounds of despair,—some like a mother's anguish
Some of intemperate, dark, and dissolute joy-
Music and horrid mirth—but unallied
To joy ;—and madness might be heard amidst
The pauses of the storm-and when the glare
Was strong, rude savage men were seen to dance
In frantic exultation on the deck,
Though all was hopeless.—Hark! the ship has struck,
And the forked lightning seeks the arsenal !-
'Tis fired—and mirth and madness are no more!
'Midst columned smoke, deep red, the fragments fly
In fierce confusion--splinters and scorched limbs,
And burning masts, and showers of gold,--torn from
The heart that hugged it even till death. Thus doth
Sicilian Etna in her angry moods,
Or Hecla 'mid her wilderness of snows,
Shoot up its burning entrails, with a sound
Louder than e'er the Titans uttered from
Their subterranean caves, when Jove enchained

« 前へ次へ »