And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths; And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, CHURCHILL'S GRAVE.* A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED. I STOOD beside the grave of him who blazed The Gardener of that ground, why it might be And I had not the digging of this grave." I know not what of honour and of light Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thought, Was a most famous writer in his day, And therefore travellers step from out their way Your honour pleases," then most pleased I shock Some certain coins of silver, which as 'twere I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while, * Charles Churchill, author of the Roscind, &c. Because my homely phrase the truth would tell SONNET TO LAKE LEMAN. ROUSSEAU-Voltaire-our Gibbon-and De Staci- But they have made them lovelier, for the lo: 3 Of human hearts the ruin of a wall Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by ee How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel, In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea, The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal, Which of the heirs of immortality Is proud, and makes the breath of glory ree!! PROMETHEUS. TITAN! to whose immortal eyes Were not as things that gods despise ; Which speaks but in its loneliness, And then is jealous lest the sky Titan! to thee the strife was given And the inexorable Heaven, And the deaf tyranny of Fate, The ruling principle of Hate, Which for its pleasure doth create * Geneva, Ferney, Copet, Lausanne.--B. Refused thee even the boon to die: Was thine-and thou hast borne it well. Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable Spirit, Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, Thou art a symbol and a sign To Mortals of their fate and force; Like thee, Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source; His wretchedness, and his resistance, And a firm will, and a deep sense, Its own concenter'd recompense, [The pieces following, to the end, are, from their great beauty and unobjectionable character, extracted from Don Juan, a poem unfit to be printed, in this collection. entire.] FIRST LOVE. "Tis sweet to hear At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep By distance mellowed, o'er the waters sweep; "Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. "Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; "Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; "Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarreis, Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; Dear is the helpless creature we defend Against the world; and dear the school-boy spot But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, Like Adam's recollection of his fall; The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd-all's knɔwnAnd life yields nothing further to recall Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven. VAIN REGRETS. BUT now at thirty years my hair is grey (I wonder what it will be like at forty? I thought of a peruke the other day-) My heart is not much greener; and, in short, I Have spent my life, both interest and principal, No more no more-Oh! never more, my heart, Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse: Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure; O'er which reflection may be made at leisure: Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken, "Time is, Time was, Time's past :"-a chymic treasure Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimesMy heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. FAME. WHAT is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's King Cheops erected the first pyramid And largest, thinking it was just the thing To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid; But somebody or other rummaging Burglarously broke his coffin's lid: Let not a monument give you or me hopes, THE SHIPWRECK. The wind Increased at night, until it blew a gale; And though 'twas not much to a naval mind, For sailors are, in fact, a different kind: At sunset they began to take in sail, For the sky show'd it would come on to blow, |