THE BANKS OF THE ESK. BY J. RICHARDSON, ESQ. THERE's hardly motion in the air, The clouds in fleecy fragments lie, Loved scene of many a youthful dream, Thoughts of woe, and thoughts of pleasure? "Tis, that, once more, thy scenes can give Times that in memory hardly live, And youth again, with angel smile, THINGS TO COME. BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY. THERE are murmurs on the deep, There are thunders on the heaven; Though the ocean billows sleep, Though no cloud the sign has given; Earth that sudden storm shall feel, "Tis a storm of man and steel. Tribes are in their forests now, War of old has swept the world, Man hath shed Man's blood for toys, Love and hatred, fame and gold; Now, a mightier wrath destroys; Earth in cureless crime grows old; Past destruction shall be tame To the rushing of that flame. When the clouds of Vengeance break, Nation against nation rise, And the worse than Pagan sword In Religion's breast be gored. Then the Martyrs' solemn cry, Round the Golden Altar' flung, Shall be heard, and from the 'throne' The trumpet of the 'Judgment' blown. "Woe to Earth, the mighty, woe!' Yet shall Earth her conscience lull, Till above the brim shall flow The draught of gall.-The cup is full. Yet a moment!-Comes the ire,— Famine, bloodshed, flood, and fire. First shall fall a Mighty one! Ancient crime had crowned his brow, Dark Ambition raised his throne Truth his victim and his foe. Earth shall joy in all her fear Then shall rush abroad the blaze On the Turk shall fall the blow From the Grecian's daggered hand! Blood like winter-showers shall flow, Till he treads the Syrian land! Then shall final vengeance shine, And all be sealed in Palestine ! Literary Gazette. NIGHT. BY E. ELLIOTT, ESQ. NIGHT! thou art silent; thou art beautiful; But where are now their terrors? Striga's form, Of fear and wonder, serves but to constrain, The' unsleeping gale moves his dark curls; the moon Or rustling fern, he listens silently, But not in fear. At once, he bounds away; And the snared hare shrieks, quivers, and is still. Sheffield Iris. BY HORACE SMITH, ESQ. O DAUGHTER dear, my darling child, Thou who hast care and pain beguiled, And wreathed with Spring my wintry age !— Through thee a second prospect opes Of life, when but to live is glee, And jocund joys, and youthful hopes, Come thronging to my heart through thee. Backward thou lead'st me to the bowers Where love and youth their transports gave; While forward still thou strewest flowers, And bid'st me live beyond the grave; Thy face, my lineaments shall show, Yes, daughter, when this tongue is mute, Some stanza by thy Sire composed, A thought of him who wrote the lays, And from the grave my form shall start, Embodied forth to fancy's gaze. Then to their memories will throng Scenes shared with him who lies in earth; The cheerful page, the lively song, The woodland walk, or festive mirth; Then may they heave the pensive sigh, That friendship seeks not to controul, And from the fixed and thoughtful eye, The half unconscious tears may roll ;- |