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Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour, The double night of ages, and of her,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power : Night's daughter, ignorance, hath wrapt
So fair, so calm, so softly seald,
The first, last look by death reveal'd!

All round us ; we but feel oor way to err: Such is the aspect of this shore;

The ocean hath his chart, the stars their 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!

map, So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,

Anıl knowledge spreads tbem on her ample We start, for soul is wanting there.

lap; Hers is the loveliness in death,

But Rome is as the desert, where we steer That parts not quite with parting breath; Stumbling o'er recollections : now we clap But beauty with that fearful bloom,

Our hands and cry, “Eureka !"" it is Tbat hue which haupts it to the tomb,

clear Expression's last receding ray,

When but some false mirage of ruin rises A gilded halo bovering round decay,

near. The farewell beam of feeling past away! Sparks of that fame, wbich boasts of hea

Alas! the lofty city! and alas ! venly birth,

The trebly hundred triumphs ? and the Which gleams, but warms no more its chc

day rish'd earth.

When Brutas made the dagger's edge sur

pass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame


Alas, for Tolly's voice, and Virgil's lay, RO ME.

And Livy's pictured page --but these

shall be

Her resurrection; all beside-decay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Alas, for earth, for never shall we see Childless and crownless, in her voiceless That brightness in her eye she bore when wO;

Rome was free! An empty urn within her wither'd hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago; And thuu, dread statue !+ yet existent in The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes Dow; The austerest form of naked majesty, The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Thou who beheldest,'mid the assassin's din, Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow, At thy bathed base the bloody Cæsar lie,

Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness! Folding bis rube in dying dignity, Rise with thy yellow waves, and mantle her

An offering to thine altar from the queen distress!

Of gods and men, great Nemesis? did he

die, The goth, the christian, time, war, flood, And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye and fire,

been Have dealt upon the seven-bill'd city's Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a pride;

scene? She saw her glories star by star expire, And up the steep barbarian monarcbs ride,

And thou, the thunder-stricken purse of Where the car climb'd the capitol; far

Rome! and wide

She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dags imTemple and tower went down, nor left a

part scite :

The milk of conquest yet within the dome Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void,

Where, as a monument of antique art, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,

“here was, or is," where all is doubly night?

* “ I have found.” + Statue of Pompey.

And say,

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Oft, rising from the sea, the tempest lowers,

And buoy'd on winds, the clouds majestic sail, Which scattering burst in wide and frequent showers,

Swelling the streams which glide thro' every vale ; Yet are the marshy plains bedeck'd with flowers,

And balmy sweets are borne on every gale.

Where Dart romantic winds its mazy course,

And mossy rocks adhere to woody hills,

From whence each creeping rill its store distils,
And wandering waters join with rapid force ;

There Nature's hand has wildly strewn her flowers,
And varying prospects strike the roving eyes ;
Rough-hanging woods o'er cultur'd hills arise
Thick ivy spreads around huge antique towers ;

And fruitful groves
Scatter their blossoms fast as falling showers,
Perfuming ev'ry stream which o'er the landscape pours.


Along the grassy banks how sweet to stray,

When the mild eve smiles in the glowing west, And lengthen'd shades proclaim departing day, And fainting sunbeams in the waters play,

When every bird seeks its accustom'd rest!
How grand to see the burning orb descend,

And the grave sky wrapp'd in its nightly robes ;
Whether resplendent with the starry globes,
Or silver'd by the mildly-solemu moon,

When nightingales their lonely songs resume,
And folly's sons their babbling noise suspend !

Or when the darkening clouds ny o'er the sea And early morning beams a cheerful ray, Waking melodious songsters from each tree;

How sweet beneath each dewy bill Amid the pleasing shades to stray,

Where nectar'd flowers their sweets distil, Whose watery pearls reflect the day!

To scent the jonquil's rich perfume, To pluck the hawthorn's tender briars,

As wild beneath each flowery hedge

Fair strawberries with violets bloom, And every joy of spring conspires !

Nature's wild songsters from each bush and tree

Invite the early walk, and breathe delight : What bosom heaves not with warm sympathy

When the gay lark salutes the new-born light? Hark! where the shrill-ton'd thrush,

Sweet whistling, carols the wild harmony ! The linnet warbles, and from yonder bush

The robin pours soft streams of melody!

Hail, Devon ! while through thy lov'd woods I stray,
0! let me loudly pour the grateful lay!

Tell each luxuriant bank where violets grow,
Each mazy vale, where fragrant woodbines wind,

How much of their bewitching charms they owe
To the sweet peace which fills my happy mind.
Ab! where again will it such pleasures find ?

0, lov'd society! the heartfelt lay
Is all the humble Muse can now bestow;

Thy praises still I sing, as on I stray,
Writ in my heart amid each strain they flow.


Broke on our infant eyes, or where our cot

Uprises, render'd precious by long years CARRINGTON.

Of residence, may throw illusive grace Fair are the provinces that England boasts, Upon the hills, the vales, the woods, the Lovely the verdure, exquisite the flowers,

streams That bless her hills and dales,-her stream. That do encircle it,,but thou hast charms lets clear,

Enchanting mount, which not the LOCAL Her seas majestic, and her prospects all,

LOVE Of old, as now the pride of British song !

Too highly values, or the genial West But England sees not on her charming map,

Alone enamour'd views, for thou art own'd A goodlier spot than our fine Devon ;-rich Supreme in loveliness in this our isle, Art thou in all that Nature's hand can give, Profusely teeming with unrivall’d scenes! Land of the matchless view! The tyrant Sun

Thine is the monarch oak, the sturdy Thy emerald bosom spares, for frequent

growth showers

Of ages, long triumphant o'er decay; Drop from the voyaging and friendly cloud, And thine the venerable elm that loves, To cheer thy foliage, and to swell thy streams:

Of old, to stand in stately row. Around Hence all thy mountain torrents that descend

The chesnut throws its amplitude of shade, To stray in meads, as Tempe ever fair,

And many a brave exotic too exults Thy noble rivers hence, and that rich robe In soil and clime all-fav’ring as its own. Of green, throughout the varying year which Thine the grand Cedar of enormous bough clothes

And trunk stupendous,-scarcely Libanus The pleasant fields of thy Peninsula. Outvies the giant stranger; by its side

Upshoots the sable Cork. The forest teems
With forms of majesty and beauty ; some
As the light poplar bend with every sigh

Of Zephyr, and some scarely bend their


For very mightiness, when wintry storms

Are maddening the seas! But 'tis not Local PREJUDICE that prompts

O when the breath The lay, when EDGCUMBE is the inspiring Of Spring is on thy renovated hill, theme !

When all the buds are leaping into leaf, Affection for one valued, honor'd, nook And the broad sheets of eaily foliage clothe Of Earth, where haply first the light of day Anew, thy waste of bough, delicious 'tis

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