And thou didst vainly clasp him to the breast
His young and sunny smile so oft with hope had blest.

'Tis past-that fearful trial-he is gone;
But thou, sad mourner! hast not long to weep;
The hour of nature's charter'd peace comes on,
And thou shalt share thine infant's holy sleep.
A few short sufferings yet-and death shall be
As a bright messenger from heaven to thee.

But ask not-hope not-one relenting thought
From him who doom'd thee thus to waste away,
Whose heart, with sullen, speechless vengeance
fraught,

Broods in dark triumph o'er thy slow decay;
And coldly, sternly, silently can trace

The gradual withering of each youthful grace.

And yet the day of vain remorse shall come,
When thou, bright victim! on his dreams shalt rise
As an accusing angel-and thy tomb,

A martyr's shrine, be hallow'd in his eyes!

Then shall thine innocence his bosom wring, More than thy fancied guilt with jealous pangs could sting.

Lift thy meek eyes to heaven-for all on earth, Young sufferer! fades before thee-Thou art lone— Hope, Fortune, Love, smiled brightly on thy birth, Thine hour of death is all Affliction's own!

It is our task to suffer-and our fate

To learn that mighty lesson, soon or late.

The season's glory fades—the vintage-lay
Through joyous Italy resounds no more;
But mortal loveliness hath pass'd away,

Fairer than aught in summer's glowing store.
Beauty and youth are gone-behold them such
As Death hath made them with his blighting touch!

The summer's breath came o'er them—and they died!
Softly it came to give luxuriance birth,

Call'd forth young nature in her festal pride,
But bore to them their summons from the earth!
Again shall blow that mild, delicious breeze,
And wake to life and light all flowers—but these.

No sculptured urn, nor verse thy virtues telling,
O lost and loveliest one! adorns thy grave;
But o'er that humble cypress-shaded dwelling
The dew-drops glisten, and the wild-flowers wave—
Emblems more meet, in transient light and bloom,
For thee, who thus didst pass in brightness to the
tomb!

STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF

GEORGE THE THIRD.

"Among many nations was there no King like him."-NEHEMIAH. "Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel!"-SAMUEL.

ANOTHER warning sound! the funeral bell,
Startling the cities of the isle once more
With measured tones of melancholy swell,
Strikes on th' awaken'd heart from shore to shore.
He, at whose coming monarchs sink to dust,
The chambers of our palaces hath trod,
And the long-suffering spirit of the just,
Pure from its ruins, hath return'd to God!

Yet may not England o'er her Father weep; Thoughts to her bosom crowd, too many, and too deep.

Vain voice of Reason, hush!-they yet must flow, The unrestrain'd, involuntary tears;

A thousand feelings sanctify the wo,

Roused by the glorious shades of vanish'd years. Tell us no more 'tis not the time for grief, Now that the exile of the soul is past,

And Death, blest messenger of Heaven's relief,
Hath borne the wanderer to his rest at last;

For him, eternity hath tenfold day,

We feel, we know, 'tis thus-yet nature will have

way.

What though amidst us, like a blasted oak,

Sadd'ning the scene where once it nobly reign'd, A dread memorial of the lightning stroke,

Stamp'd with its fiery record, he remain'd; Around that shatter'd tree still fondly clung

Th' undying tendrils of our love, which drew Fresh nurture from its deep decay, and sprung

Luxuriant thence, to Glory's ruin true;

While England hung her trophies on the stem, That desolately stood, unconscious e'en of THEM.,

Of them unconscious! Oh mysterious doom!
Who shall unfold the counsels of the skies?
His was the voice which roused, as from the tomb,
The realm's high soul to loftiest energies!
His was the spirit, o'er the isles which threw
The mantle of its fortitude; and wrought

In every bosom, powerful to renew

Each dying spark of pure and generous thought; The star of tempests! beaming on the mast,* The seaman's torch of Hope, 'midst perils deepening fast.

The glittering meteor, like a star, which often appears about a ship during tempests; if seen upon the main-mast, is considered by the sailors as an omen of good weather.See DAMPIER's Voyages.

Then from th' unslumbering influence of his worth,
Strength, as of inspiration, fill'd the land;

A young, but quenchless, flame went brightly forth,
Kindled by him—who saw it not expand!
Such was the will of heaven-the gifted seer,

Who with his God had communed, face to face, And from the house of bondage, and of fear,

In faith victorious, led the chosen race;

He through the desert and the waste their guide, Saw dimly from afar, the promised land-and died.

O full of days and virtues! on thy head

Centred the woes of many a bitter lot; Fathers have sorrow'd o'er their beauteous dead, Eyes, quench'd in night, the sunbeam have forgot; Minds have striven buoyantly with evil years, And sunk beneath their gathering weight at length;

But Pain for thee had fill'd a cup of tears,

Where every anguish mingled all its strength; By thy lost child we saw thee weeping stand, And shadows deep around fell from th' Eternal's hand.

Then came the noon of glory, which thy dreams
Perchance of yore had faintly prophesied ;
But what to thee the splendour of its beams?
The ice-rock glows not 'midst the summer's pride!
Nations leap'd up to joy-as streams that burst,

At the warm touch of spring, their frozen chain, And o'er the plains, whose verdure once they nursed, Roll in exulting melody again;