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From the same author we have this charming lyric :
Down the dimpled greensward dancing bursts a faxen-headed bevy, Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing, Love's irregular little levy.
Rows of liquid eyes in laughter, how they glimmer, how they quiver !
The following fine songs are from Sheridan's play of The Duenna:
my love ne'er smiled on me,
To bid me cease to languish :
Breathe on a Aame half perish'd;
To kill the hope she cherish’d.
That drove as winds did blow it,
To find a grave below it.
He glow'd with joy to hear it ;
The wreck must sink ere near it!
Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast
Logan's “ magical stanzas of picture, melody, and sentiment,” which Burke so much admired, addressed to the Cuckoo, are now before us : Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! thou messenger of Spring! Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, and woods thy welcome sing. What time the daisy decks the green, thy certain voice we hear ; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, or mark the rolling vear ?
Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of Howers,
LEYDEN's celebrated Ode to an Indian Gold Coin, has attracted the especial notice and commendation of Colton and other critics. This remarkable poem was written in Cherical, Malabar ; the author having left his native land, Scotland, in quest of a fortune in India. He died shortly afterwards in Java :
Slave of the dark and dirty mine!
What vanity has brought thee here?
So bright, whom I have bought so dear?
The tent-ropes Aapping lone I hear
The jackal's sbriek bursts on mine ear
By Chérical's dark, wandering streams,
Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild,
Of Teviot loved, while still a child,
Of castled rocks, stupendous piled,
Where loves of youth and friendship smiled,
Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade !
The perished bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy played,
Revives no more in after-time.
Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave;
The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.
Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock
A wanderer's banished heart forlorn, Now that his frame the lightning shock
Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne ?
From love, from friendship, country, torn, To memory's fond regrets the prey,
Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! – Go, mix thee with thy kindred clay!
Another of Leyden's fine lyrics is that to the Evening Star :
How sweet thy modest light to view, fair star, to love and lovers dear! While trembling on the falling dew, like beauty shining through a
Thine are the soft, enchanting hours when twilight lingers o'er the
plain, And whispers to the closing flowers, that soon the sun will rise again. Thine is the breeze, that, murmuring bland as music, wafts the
lover's sigh, And bids the yielding heart expand in love's delicious ecstasy. Fair star! though I be doom’d to prove that rapture's tears are mix’d
with pain, Ah, still I feel ʼtis sweet to love! but sweeter to be loved again!
Beattie's fine stanzas, descriptive of a morning landscape, commence thus:-
But who the melodies of morn can tell ?
The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ;
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried
In the lone valley, echoing far and wide,
The hollow murmur of the ocean tide,
Crowned with her pail, the tripping milkmaid sings;
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings ;
Through rustling corn the hare, astonished, springs ;
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings,