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Cheered by the voice you would have raised on high,
peace that angels lend to humankind;
They shall describe thy life—thy form portray
On receiving a seal with the Campbell Crest, from
K. M.-before her marriage.
This wax returns not back more fair,
Th'impression of the gift you send,
The image of your worth, my friend !-
But poet's fancies are a little
By turns impressible and brittle.
My heart to prize or please you less,
And mine the waxen brittleness. .
What transcripts of my weal and wo
This little signet yet may lock -
In reason's calm or passion's shock!
What scenes of life's yet curtained page
May own its confidential die,
And feelings of futurity !
Yet wheresoe'er my pen
Shall make its recollection sweet;
Sent when the star that rules
And none more cordially than mine.
That erst th' advent'rous Norman* wore,
The daughter of Macaillain Mor..
With glory in the strife of swords,
Degenerate thoughts or faithless words !
If it but typed the feudal tree
In Fortune's mutability.
No!—but it tells me of a heart,
Allied by friendship's living tie;
Our soul-sprung consanguinity!
Light wings and sunshine you have lent;
The all in-all of life-Content!
* A Norman leader, in the service of the king of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and from him the Camp bells are sprung.
To the memory of the Spanish Patriots latest killed in re
sisting the Regency and the Duke of Angouleme. BRAVE men who at the Trocadero fellBeside your cannons conquered not, though slain, There is a Victory in dying well For Freedom,—and ye have not died in vain ; For come what may there shall be hearts in Spain To honour, ay embrace your martyred lot. Cursing the Bigot’s and the Bourbon's chain, And looking on your graves, though trophied not, As holier, hallowed ground than priests could make the
spot! What though your cause be baffled-freemen cast In dungeons-dragged to death, or forced to flee; Hope is not withered in affliction's blast The patriot's blood's the seed of Freedom’s tree; And short your orgies of revenge shall be, Cowled demons of the Inquisitorial cell ! Earth shudders at your victory,for ye Are worse than common fiends from Heaven that fell, The baser, ranker sprung Autochthones of hell! Go to your bloody rites again-bring back The hall of horrors and the assessor's pen, Recording answers shrieked upon the rack; Smile o’er the gaspings of spine-broken men ;Preach, perpetrate damnation in your den ;Then let your altars, ye blasphemers ! peal With thanks to Heaven, that let you loose again, To practise deeds with torturing fire and steel No eye may search-no tongue may challenge or reveal !
Yet laugh not in your carnival of crime
INSCRIBED ON THE MONUMENT LATELY FINISHED BY
Which has been erected by the widow of Admiral Sir G
Campbell, K. C. B. to the memory of her husband.
To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart