And, while he quenched his thirst, standing on tiptoe, Looked down upon him with a sister's smile,
Nor stirred till he had done,-fixed as a statue.
Then, hadst thou seen them as they stood, Canova,
Thou hadst endowed them with eternal youth;
And they had evermore lived undivided,—
Winning all hearts of all thy works the fairest.
AWAY! Away, thou Summer Bird,
For Autumn's moaning voice is heard,
In cadence wild and deepening swell,
Of Winter's stern approach to tell!
Away! for vapours, damp and low,
Are wreathed around the mountain's brow;
And tempest clouds their mantles fold
Around the forest's russet gold!
Away! Away! o'er earth and sea,
This land is now no home for thee!
Arise, and stretch thy soaring wing,
And seek, elsewhere, the smiles of Spring!
The wanderer now, with pinions spread,
Afar to brighter climes has fled,
Nor casts one backward look, nor grieves
For those dear groves whose shade he leaves.
Why should he grieve;-the beam he loves
Shines o'er him still, where'er he roves,
And all those early friends are near
Who made his Summer-home so dear?
Oh! deem not that the tie of birth
Endears us to this spot of earth;
For, wheresoe'er our steps may roam,
If friends are near, that place is home :-
No matter where our fate may guide us,
If those we love are still beside us.
QUEEN OF FRANCE, TAKEN ON THE LAST EXAMI-
NATION PREVIOUS TO HER EXECUTION.
AND this was she! The peerless and the bright,
The false world's darling! she who did possess,
(And held awhile in Europe's dazzled sight,
Glorious in majesty and loveliness,)
The Heaven-lent power to ruin or to bless!
Yes, this was she!-But mark ye, I beseech,
Who love the world,-mark this mute wretchedness,
And grave it on your hearts, for it doth reach
To regions unexplored by eloquence of speech!
Nature gave loveliness, and fate gave power,
And millions lavished incense,-poets hung
Their amaranth garlands o'er the royal bower,—
For Gallia's lily every lyre was strung;
Pride of all eyes, and theme of every tongue :-
Love, awe, and wonder, were her ministers;
Life, and its hours, upon her fiat hung;
She held in poise a nation's hopes and fears :-
Dominion, beauty, pomp, and the world's shout, were her's!
Gracious and mighty. Yet there came an hour
Of desolation; and away it swept,
In one rude whirlwind, empire, pomp, and power!
O'er the fair brow the hoary winter crept
Of sorrow,-not of time.-Those eyes have wept
Till grief had done with tears, and calm and cold,
Tired with its own excess; in stupor slept,
Or gazed in frozen wonder to behold
The black and hideous page of destiny unrolled.
Yet trace these faded lines; for they impart
A tale, may do your careless bosoms good!
Muse o'er the fragments of a mighty heart,
Broken by sorrow,-ye whose jocund mood,
Insatiate feeds on pleasure's tempting food;
Look here! It will not harm ye, though your thought
Leave its gay flight to melt in pity's flood!
To each light heart, home be the lesson brought,
With what enduring bliss the world's fair smile is fraught!
And is this all? No;-ye may learn beside,
That all which fate can threaten may be borne;
To see life's blessings, one by one, subside,
Its wild extremes from tenderness to scorn,
But as the changes of an April morn!
For still she was a Queen !—and majesty
Survived, though she, deserted and forlorn,
Save Heaven, had ne'er a friend to lift her eye;—
But Heaven returned the glance, and taught her how to die! Poems edited by Miss Baillie.
CHOSEN of thee, henceforth I consecrate
Whate'er of life remains to soothe thy grief;
And I will weep with thee like a fond mate,
With tears to sorrow ministering relief:—
And, if it please thee, I will change the measure
To joy and playfully I'll while away
Thy care, and bid a sunny smile to play
Upon thy cheek, suffused once more with pleasure :—
I'll ever watch thine unconfessed desires,
Fondly to do their import-and I'll blend
The varied duties, as thy mood requires,
Of wife, or mistress, sister, servant, friend-
This this I'll do and in thine arms resign
All other glory, save—that thou art mine!—
STANZAS TO AN OLD FRIEND.
COME, here's a health to thee and thine!
Trust me, whate'er we may be told,
Few things are better than old wine,
When tasted with a friend that's old.
We're happy yet; and, in our track
New pleasures if we may not find,
There is a charm in looking back
On sunny prospects left behind.
Like that famed hill in western clime,
Through gaudy noontide dark and bare,
That tinges still, at vesper time,
With purple gleam the evening air;
So there's a joy in former days,
In times, and scenes, and thoughts gone by,
As beautiful their heads they raise,
Bright in Imagination's sky.
Time's glass is filled with varied sand,
With fleeting joy and transient grief;
We'll turn, and with no sparing hand,
O'er many a strange fantastic leaf;
And fear not-but, 'mid many a blot,
There are some pages written fair,
And flowers that time can wither not,
Preserved, still faintly fragrant there.
As the hushed night glides gentlier on,
Our music shall break forth its strain,
And tell of pleasures that are gone,
And heighten those that yet remain ;
And that creative breath divine,
Shall waken many a slumbering thrill,
And call forth many a mystic line
Of faded joys remembered still.
Again, the moments shall she bring,
When youth was in his freshest prime;
We'll pluck the roses that shall spring
Upon the grave of buried time.
There's magic in the olden song ;—
Yea, e'en ecstatic are the tears
Which steal a down, our smiles among,
Roused by the sounds of other years.
And, as the mariner can find
Wild pleasure in the voiced roar
Even of the often-dreaded wind,
That wrecked his every hope before;
If there's a pang that lurk's beneath-
For youth had pangs-oh! let it rise!
'Tis sweet to feel the poet breathe
The spirit of our former sighs.
We'll hear the strains we heard so soft,
In life's first, warm, impassioned hours,
That fell on our young hearts as soft
As summer dews on summer flowers!
And as the stream, where'er it hies,
Steals something in its purest flow,
Those strains shall taste of ecstacies
O'er which they floated long ago.
Even in our morn, when fancy's eye
Glanced, sparkling o'er a world of bliss,
When joy was young, and hope was high,
We could not feel much more than this:
Howe'er, then, time our day devours,
Why should our smiles be overcast ?
Why should we grieve for fleeting hours?
We find a future in the past.
Blackwood's Magazine.
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