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And sk: Lad shorn, but saved her raven hair,
And oft would snatch it from her bosom there,
And fold, and press it gently to the ground,
As if she stanch'd anew some phantom's wound.
Herself would question and for him reply ;
Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly
From some imagined spoctre in pursuit;
Then seat her down upon some linden's root,
And hide her visage with her meagre hand,
Or trace strange characters along the sand. -
This could not last—she lies by him she loved ;
Her tale untold-her truth too dearly proved.

CONDOLATORY ADDRESS TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF JERSEY, ON THE PRINCE REGENT'S

RETURNING HER PICTURE TO MRS. MEE.

WHEN the vain triumph of the imperial lord,
Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorrd,
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust,
That left a likeness of the brave, or just;
What most admired each scrutinizing eye
Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry?
What spread from face to face that wondering air ?
The thought of Brutus—for his was not there!
That absence proved his worth,—that absence fix'd
His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd;
And more decreed his glory to endure,
Than all a gold Colossus could secure.

If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze
Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze,
Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness,
Bright though they be, thine own had render'd less ;
If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits
IIeir of his father's crown, and of his wits,
If his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart,
Could with thy gentle image bear depart;
That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief,
To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief:
Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts,
We lose the portrait, but preserve our hearts.

What can his vaunted gallery now disclose ?
A garden with all flowers-except the rose;
A fount that only wants its living stream ;--
A night, with every star, save Dian's beam.
Lost to our eyes the present forms shall be,
That turn from tracing them to dream of thee;

HEBREW MELODIES.

ADVERTISEMENT. TIe sabsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, thw Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, for a selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have teen published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies :
And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace,
Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent !

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
THE harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The King of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven !
It soften'd men of iro: mould,

It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne !

HEBREW MELODIES.

ADVERTISEMENT. The sqbsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, tha Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, for a selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have teen published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies :
And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes :
Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace,
Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face ;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-plare.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent !

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
The harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The King of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven !
It soften'd men of iro: mould,

It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throno

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