As reclin'd on his noon-day couch he lay, And bask'd in the sunshine's golden ray; "When slow up the palace wall without That serpent soft-sliding clomb; No watchman was near, with his warning shout [dome

:

To ring alarm through the echoing It chanc'd the blind man alone reclin'd, His sole companions the sun and wind: "And in at the casement that serpent crept,

In many a surgy fold;

And her twining length, that stately swept, Glisten'd with jet, and green, and gold:

Now the Emperor felt his life-blood freeze, For the snake had coil'd her round his knees :

"The serpent her slacken'd folds withdrew, And the loose unravellings spread; But the Emperor's pulse more tremulous [head; grew;

And back he shrank with recoiling For the snake, with smooth and slippery trace,

Came gliding athwart his sightless face. "He felt, with a shock of dumb surprize, The touch of some gém unknown, From the serpent's mouth, laid soft on his eyes,

As it were a jacynth or beryl stone :

Impatient now, in his griping hold
He struggled to grasp the serpent's fold;
But the wily snake elapsing fled,

Like the wave of a sliding stream, And the Emperor rais'd his hasty head, And he saw the snake's departing gleam,

For the scales had fallen that film'd his sight, [light." And his eyes roll'd glad in the blaze of

Eufemian dropp'd the scalding tear,
And his brow was bath'd in the dew of fear:
Thy crime, Theodora, shall pardon gain;
But speak! that my true-born son may
reign.'

The Empress gaz'd with a ghastly eye,
And her bosom heav'd a deep-drawn sigh;
But a mother's love was strong in death,
And speechless she yielded up her breath.
On his death-bed soon Rome's Emperor
lay,
[clay:
And his lips and forehead were cold as
'Jerusalem's King shall fill my throne
Till that my true-born son be known."
Jerusalem's King the mandate gave,
They raise the corse from its new-made
grave;
[stand,
With arrows and bows the sons must
And the sceptre shall gift the truest

hand.

The Princes the shrouded monarch see
At distance bound to a plantane tree:
With steady aim the eldest stands,
And the bowstring twangs in his nervous
hands;

In the forehead cold of the breathless corse
The arrow quivers with cleaving force.
Then forth from the throng the second

came,

And wary stood with an archer's aim :
He drew the bow with rebounding twang,
Through the whistling air the arrow sang,
As the lightning swift; that bearded dart
Was lodg'd in the lifeless monarch's heart.
Jerusalem's King then turn'd to know
Why the youngest Prince came loitering
slow;
[ear,
But, with sobs and cries that rent the

That youthful Prince stood weeping near.
The darts and bow to his grasp were giv'n,
But his eyes in horror were rais'd to
heav'n;
[dart;
He trampled the bow, and he snapp'd the
'Ah! shall I pierce my father's heart?"
Jerusalem's King from his throne stept
down,
[crown;
On the youngest's brows he plac'd the
'Untouch'd shall the corse of thy father be,
By the hand of his son, for thou art he!?

24. ANNE OF BRITTANY: an Historical Romance, in Three Volumes; Cradock; small 8vo; pp. 562.

THIS story, founded on facts, is well conducted, and does credit to the Author's judgment, in selecting incidents which might admit of the embellishment of individual characters without violating the truth of History. The narrative is rendered highly interesting; and the misery arising from Court intrigues is feelingly depicted.

VERSES to an Agricultural Friend*, suffering under the loss of a course of unseasonable Weather in Hay Harvest. By Mr. PRATT, Author of "Sympathy," " Glean ings," " Lower World+," a Poem just published, occasioned by Lord ERSKINE'S Bill for punishing wanton Cruelty to Animals, &c. &c.

WHEN fierce the Summer torrent roars,
Or, still more furious, Sirius pours

A flood of burning light,
Or variegated Autumn brings
Dire Mildew on his withering wings,

And sheds wide-wasting Blight;

The earth-born native of the clod,
Like that, unconscious of the God
That works to good the whole,
Finds, when his hopes are thus o'eroast,
While drenching clouds the prospect blast,
No refuge but the bowl!

The pipe in mouth, the mug in hand,
He chides the air, he spurns the land,
And like a maniac flies;
Enrag'd, he views his ruin'd fields,
Till wrought to blasphemy he yields,
Or, curses God, and dies!

But happy he, who, like my friend,
Can Industry and Science blend,

With Piety combin'd;

Tho' Horror strides the raving storm,
No phrenzy can his breast deforın,
To Providence resign'd!

When Nature clouds the sylvan scene,
The cultivated mind, serene,

Far other solace knows;
He turns th' illumin'd volume q'er,
And Nature's wonders dares explore,
Where sacred Wisdom glows.

On Wisdom's wing he soars on high,
With her own Newton seeks the sky,
Or treads where Plato trod;
And not unskill'd in learned lore,
He tries the microscopic pow'r,
And views in all a God.

IN the village of St. Stephen's, near Canterbury, is a beautiful shaded walk of very fine lime trees adjoining the churchyard, and leading to the meadows. The following Elegy was composed in an even

ing walk there, to the memory of the au-
thor's grandfather, the Rev. John Bunce,
A. M. formerly Vicar of Brensett, in Rom-
ney Marsh, Kent, and afterwards Rector of
Chingford and Pitsey in Essex, and other
relatives buried in the chancel of St. Ste-
phen's Church.
BELOV'D, respected shade, accept
The tribute of a tear
To all those tender ties dissolv'd,
Which once were held so dear!
Though years on years have since elaps'd

Like Ocean's rolling waves,
In Mem'ry's stores thy Virtues stand,
As rocks it vainly laves.

And may they still descend to bless
The lives of those I love,
The first inheritance on earth§,

The surest claims above,

On the bleak plains of Romney's shore ||,
Through many a Winter drear,
Thy care the simple Shepherd brought
The truths divine to hear:

"Void of offence," to lead the life
Those sacred truths prescribe,
Remote from scenes where Vice allures
Her errors to imbibe.

In that seclusion Heav'n decreed
Thy first abode to place,
Wisdom and Virtue mark'd their own
The tenor of thy race;

There, with maternal aid, didst thou
Thy female offspring train,
To each domestic virtue mild
The softer sex attain.

Thy sons, to sacred learning rear'd,
Assign'd their part to God,
Pointed their steps, and "led the way"
Which thou thyself hadst trod.
Content, retir'd, but not obscure,
Thy tranquil days were past;
And there, well pleas'd, had Heav'n

Proverbs, chap. xiii. v. 22.

and the lower orders literally shepherds.

The

The Rev'rend Patron of thy house*,
By kindred worth impell'd,
Adjudg'd those talents from the world
No longer be withheld;
In life he call'd thee forth to fill
* A more extensive state,
While yet the period of thy dayş
Appear'd a distant date:
That call, imparted to thy flock,
Excites the friendly tear
Of Gratulation and Regret
From all within thy sphere;
For, as parental feelings led
The Pastor's watchful care,
So grateful Sorrow fill'd their breasts
When they to part prepare.

Once more assembled, at "the throne
Of heav'nly grace" they fall,
There to adore the Power Supreme,
"The Maker of them all;"

Before whose presence, "rich and poor,"

On equal terms do meet, No vain distinctions can exist

At his most holy seat:

The off'rings of their pray'rs and praise Once more by thee preferr'd,

A painful duty yet remain'd,

To speak the parting word.

For comfort and instruction search'd,
The Sacred Volume + still
Declares on whom they must rely
In ev'ry human ill;

In whom for ev'ry blessing trust
The race of man can know,
From whom alone, in ev'ry age,
Effectual comforts flow.
With ardent piety pronounc'd,
The final prayers cease;
The Pastor, by his people bless'd,
Departs in conscious peace.

Another charge his precepts claim'd,
To light the Christians' way,
And lead them to the blissful scenes

Of Heaven's eternal day.
Canterbury, May 31.

BRITANNIA'S TEARS;

W. B.

An elegiac Tribute to the Memory of the late illustrious Rear-admiral CUTHBERT Lord COLLINGWOOD. Ob. 7th March, 1810. "Non sibi,- sed PATRIA vixit!"

Trafalgar's rocks-St. Vincent's trophied shore, [rage; Shall shield thy mem'ry from Oblivion's Transmit thy fame, till Tune shall be no

more,

Shall fix thy fame amongst the British brave.

Snatch'd hence by Him who built this spacious earth, [vaulted skyWhose arm, all powerful, fram'd the On those dear sea-girt shores that gave thee birth, [die! The name of Collingwood shall never

'Mid the gay circle of gigantic stones, Rude as the woods and wilds around her spread, First early Science feebly rais'd her head: There, as the moonlight mark'd the mystic rite, [night; With eye uprais'd, she read the stars of Or caught the sounds, where, the deep cliffs among, [song., The raptur'd Bard wak'd his prophetic Slow the benighted ages roll'd away, Ere Faith exulting hail'd the Christian day:

But clouded was the dawn till Alfred rose

To rouse slow Reason from her dark repose, And, wak'ning Science from her Gothic tomb,

Burst, like a god, the intellectual gloom.

"And lo!" he cried, "in Isis' beauteous vale,

Their future Athens shall the Muses hail! Here be their sojourn, till around them rise [skies." Deep groves and turrets clust'ring to the • Nor vain the voice the wisest and the best Of Albion's sons the patriot plan attest: Poets*, who, warm with emulative fire, Caught the rich cadence of the Roman

lyre; [man's lore, Sagest, who, scorning the vain schoolDar'd Error's deepest labyrinths explore; Or they whom here, first British Themis

saw

With lucid order trace the maze of Law‡;
And Statesmens, skil'd and zealous to
unite
[right.
A Sovereign's splendour with a Nation's
Ev'n now, methinks, in visionary band,
On this auspicious day, I see them stand,
Whilst he, at once the Patriot and the Sage,
Who stemm'd the tide of a tumultuous age,
And like a firm and stately bulwark stood,
Amid contend ng factions restless flood,

Great Somers seems, complacent from on high,

Grenville, on thee to bend his partial eye "Proceed (he cries), while abject Europe groans, [thrones; And gaunt Ambition strides o'er prostrate While Tyranny her iron sceptre waves O'er couching legions of uncounted slaves; While loud contention and the sounds of

woe

Pierce the still air from Tagus to the Po; Fearless proceed, in injur'd Freedom's

cause,

To mark her limits, to define her laws; To guard her rights alike from each extreme, [less dream." Power's despot rule, and Theory's base

And lo! beneath thy penetrating eye, The scatter'd clouds of low'ring Faction fly; Whilst free from fetters, on her native sands, [hands. Afric, with blessing, lifts her bleeding Meantime, the Muses' chosen friend, be thine [shine; To bid these domes with fairer lustre To foster, in no sterile soil supprest, The seeds of Learning in the ingenuous breast, [cheer Nor thine alone with vernal warmth to The opening germ of native talent here: Lo! from those shores, where mighty cities rose, That now, magnificent in dust, repose, Bury'd with all their pomp (while Time's slow way

Age after age has roll'd unheard away;) To thee, with anxious eye, upon the scroll Antiquity submits her mouldering roll ||; "Whilst Homer seems, in dignity serene, To bend his brow amid the festive scene, Well pleas'd thy filial homage to repay, And close the pæans of this classic day .

EPILOGUE

vogue,

To give our friends a modest Epilogue: First let the Muse her late mistakes de clare, [ear: Forgive her, thus she begs your patient Then will you hear, when she her Pro logue writ, [Wit, When urged by Genius, and misled by The Drama she misca!Pd-her fancy warm, She nam'd it Innovation, not Reform.

No modern blunder this: tradition says They chang'd their names in very antient days.

|| Rolls of Papyri found in the ruins of Herculaneum, presented through Lord Grenville to the University.

Alluding to Lord Greuville's splendid edition of Homer.

When

When mists of Error blind our partial eyes, And fogs of Superstition round us rise, No more we view bright Truth's impartial sway,

No longer own her vivifying ray.

When Wickliffe chang'd a superstitious age, [page; And Luther wrote sublime th' enlighten'd When Tyndale's learning join'd the pious band,

IIe then may bid defiance to the storm, Here face the pelting showers secure from harm:

And if their ale for water they resign, They'll find a way to make the water wine: Our honest farmer, jogging home from town, [crown; Must have a weather-cock within his But should you doubt it, sure one thing is clear, That he had got no water for his beer!

And pour'd a flood of intellectual light; O'er all the nations spread the dawning ray, And Saints beheld again the Gospel day; Some adverse spirits, with malignant eyes, Saw with insidious hearts these glories rise;

Of superstition rais'd a direful storm, And Innovation call'd the bright Reform.

Thus, when our Barons met in Runnemede, [deed; And Magna Charta crown'd th' aspiring When William, great with patriotic zeal, Stretch'd forth his arm, and sav'd the public weal[cause, These firm foundations of our general The basis of our liberty and laws,

These acts of glory, by the brave esteem'd, By Faction's sons were Innovations

Here then the just criterion will we fix, In morals, law, religion, politics: If right to wrong we turn, the act, we'll

But whither do our observations roam? We now will bring the subject nearer home;

And, as our antient Cross is taken down,
To clear the way, and benefit the Town;
No longer let us raise the vain alarm,
But join to call the useful act Reform.
Still in our Market stands a spacious dome,
Where noble arches give us ample room
For shelter, when the beating shower de-
scends

In humid torrents, and annoys our friends. Here awful Justice still maintains her sway,

And holds her ensigns in the face of day: And should the farmer dread the driving

rain,

When selling samples on the market plain, A good umbrella will protect his head From rain, as well as ninety feet of lead: And should he think this shelter not enough,

Let him procure an ample water-proof:

And call one simple vane the weathercocks?

The latter still retain their wonted place, And long will Bungay's handsome turrets grace.

Now then, unmindful of a fancied loss, Let us no more lament an innovating Cross.

'Tis ours to shield it from the threatening And soothe its sorrows in a peaceful home.

'Tis ours from indigence and vice to save The luckless orphan and the child of

Found written in the Sea Sand.

YES, Ocean, thy remorseless wave
May soon these lines efface;

Nor thy unrighteous billow save
This little hallow'd place.

But soon shall Love inscribe again
Upon thy rock-bound shore,
A softer and a tenderer strain

Than he had breath'd before.

So when at first a maiden breast
Confesses Love's controul,
The evanescent form impress'd
Glides gently from her soul.
But, if one impious hand should dare
Its ruin to endeavour,
The sacred image shadow'd there
Is deeply fixed for ever.

PRO