1818.]

Of wild regret will steal into mine eye, As, musing mid these mansions of the dead,

The sweet remembrances of years gone byOf joys departed hopes for ever fledCome crowding on my mind ;-nor would I

On the Author's learning that a Harp Lute
Guitar, originally a present from him,
had fallen almost entirely into disuse.
Retouch, sweet friend! retouch the lute,
Its tones may turn thy thoughts on me;
Let not its chords be longer mute,

Remember 'twas my gift to thee.
Oh! might it yield an answering sound
To each fond wish Emilia shares;
Nor e'er be mute, or tuneless found,
'Till I forget her parting tears:
Then would thy life beloved be,
One round of tenderest minstrelsy!

A. A. W.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

Oh say not lady, say not so!
My heart is fondly thine;
And if I ever seemed to bow

Before another shrine,

I did but court the Muses' smile-
I sang but of thy charms the while!
Beloved! this tender vow believe,
Thou'rt all the world to me!
And if the Minstrel's lay I weave,
"Tis but to sing of thee;

And if I seek the wreath of fame,
Tis but to twine with it thy name!

Then say not lady, say not so!
My heart is fondly thine;

And if I ever seemed to bow

Before another shrine,

I did but court the Muses' smile

I sang but of thy charms the while!

LINES

51

"And thou, dear village, loveliest of the clime,

Fain would I name thee, but I can't in rhyme!"

A bard there was in sad quandary
To end his rhyme with-Tipperary!
Long laboured he through January,
But all in vain for-Tipperary!
Toiled every day in February,
But toiled in vain for-Tipperary!
Exploring" Byshe's Dictionary,"
He missed the rhyme for-Tipperary!
Searched Hebrew text, and commentary,
Yet found no rhyme for—Tipperary!
And though of time he was not chary,
"Twas thrown away on-Tipperary!
For still the line would run contrary,
Whene'er he turned to-Tipperary!
The stubborn verse he ne'er could vary,
To that unlucky-Tipperary!
Strange that a wight so wise and wary,
Could find no rhyme for-Tipperary!
He next implored his mother Mary*
To tell him rhyme for-Tipperary!
But she, good woman, was no fairy,
Nor witch, though born in-Tipperary!
Knew every thing about her dairy,
But not the rhyme for Tipperary!
Drawing from thence a corollary
That nought would rhyme with-Tippe-
rary!

And of his wild-goose chase most weary,
He vowed to leave out-Tipperary!

--

THE MOSLEM BRIDAL SONG.

FROM THE ITALIAN.

There is a radiance in the sky, A flush of gold, and purple dye; Night lingers in the west-the sun Floats on the sea.-The day's begun. The wave slow swelling to the shore Gleams on the green like silver ore; The grove, the cloud, the mountain's brow, Are burning in the crimson glow: Yet all is silence-till the gale Shakes its rich pinions from the vale.

It is a lovely hour-though Heaven Had ne'er to man his partner given, That thing of beauty, fatal, fair, Bright, fickle-child of flame and air;

His mother Mary
Kept a dairy
In Tipperary!

52

?

Yet such an hour, such skies above,
Such earth below, had taught him Love.
But there are sounds along the gale;-
Not murmurs of the grot or vale-
Yet wild, yet sweet, as ever stole
To soothe their twilight wanderer's soul.
It comes from yonder jasmine bower,
From yonder mosque's enamell'd tower,
From yonder harem's roof of gold,
From yonder castle's haughty hold:
Oh strain of witchery! whoe'er
That heard thee, felt no joy was near
My soul shall in the grave be dim
Ere it forgets that bridal hymn.
'Twas such a morn, 'twas such a tone
That woke me ;-visions! are you gone?
The flutes breathe nigh--the portals now
Pour out the train, white veiled, like snow
Upon its mountain summit spread,
In splendour beyond man's rude tread!
And o'er their pomp, emerging far
The bride, like morning's virgin star.
And soon along the eve may swim
The chorus of the bridal hymn;
Again the bright processions move
To take the last, sweet veil from Love.
Then speed thee on, thou glorious sun!
Swift rise-swift set-be bright-and done.
Literary Gazette.

THE MOSSY SEAT.

The landscape hath not lost its look;
Still rushes on the sparkling river;
Nor hath the gloominess forsook

These granite crags that frown for ever:
Still hangs around the shadowy wood,
Whose sounds but murmur solitude:
The raven's plaint, the linnet's song,
The stock-dove's coo, in grief repining,
In mingled echoes steal along;

The setting sun is brightly shining, And clouds above, and hills below, Are brightening with his golden glow! It is not meet, it is not fit,

[Aug. 1.

FROM THE SPANISH OF CERVANTES.
Fare thee well, land of my birth!
That spot the most sacred on earth;
At last I have broken the spell
That bound my heart to thee--farewell!

Away idle sorrows, that wet
My cheek with unbidden regret;
I leave no fond sympathy here
That asks at my parting one tear.

With a love that scarce death could remove
Have I clave to thee, land of my love!
Yet found but such fost ring and rest
As the babe at its dead mother's breast.
Lift the sail; the lone spirit that braves
The loud going forth of the waves,
Wherever they cast him will find
A country, and bosoms more kind.
Lift the sail; all remembrances sleep
In the rush and the roar of the deep;
As its tide blots the lines which the hand
Of childhood had etched on the sand.
Denied to my chance kindled fire,
The wreath that belongs to the lyre;
Yet my good sword the battle shall join,
And chivalry's garland be mine.

Or victory torn from the brow
Of the Paynim shall hallow my vow;
Or fall'n in the stife of the brave,

thwarted,

Whilst on the very stone I sit,

Where first we met, and last we parted, That absent from my soul should be The thought that loves and looks to thee! Each happy hour that we have proved,

Whilst love's delicious converse blended; As 'neath the twilight star we roved,

Unconscious where our progress tended, Still brings my mind a sweet relief, And bids it love the " joys of grief!" What soothing recollections throng,

Presenting many a mournful token, That heart's remembrance to prolong, Which then was blest- but now is broken! I cannot-Oh! hast thou forgot Our early loves?-this hallowed spot? I almost think I see thee stand;

I almost dream I hear thee speaking;
I feel the presure of thy hand;

Thy living glance in fondness seeking
Here, all apart by all unseen,
Thy form upon my arm to lean!

1818.]

53

So the bargain was struck; with the little

god laden

She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove: "Farewell," said the sculptor," you're not the first maiden

Who came but for FRIENDSHIP, and took away LOVE!

1. Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Benjamin Franklin, LL. D. F. R. S, &c. Published by his Grandson, William Temple Franklin. Vol. III. 4to. This terminates the collection of Dr. Franklin's writings and memoirs, as pub fished from the originals, and having the advantage of his own revision. These writings are properly distributed under four heads. The first part contains those which relate to American politics, before and after the separation of the colonies from Great Britain. Part the second comprises a number of excellent papers on subjects of general policy and commerce. Part the third is purely miscellaneous, moral, and entertaining. The last portion comprehends the philosophical disquisitions and experimental observations of this extraordinary man and most sagacious inquirer. Some of the articles in this collection have been frequently printed, and others may be found scattered in old periodical publications; but the editor has acted judiciously in embodying these

with those papers which are now for the first time sent into the world. In a former number we gave the author's ideas of a new theory of the earth; and we shall close this announcement with one or two extracts on subjects of general interest. The first shall be from a letter to Dr. Percival, in which the causes of mortality are considered. Speaking of a humid atmosphere, Dr. Franklin says-

"Tis a curious remark, that moist seasons are the healthiest. The gentry of England are remarkably afraid of moisture and of air. But seamen, who live perpetually in moist air, are always healthy if they have good provisions. The inhabitants of Beranda, St. Helena, and other islands far from continents, surrounded with rocks against which the waves continually dashing, fill the air with spray and vapour, and where no wind can arrive that does not pass over much sea, and of course bring much moisture, these people are remarkably healthy; and I have long thought, that mere moist

air has no ill effect on the constitution; though air impregnated with vapours from putrid marshes is found pernicious, not from the moisture but the putridity. It seems strange that man, whose body is composed and juices are so watery, who can swallow in great part of moist fluids, whose blood quantities of water and small beer daily, without inconvenience, should fancy that a little more or less moisture in the air should be of such importance. But we abound in absurdity and inconsistency. Thus, though it is generally allowed that taking the air is a good thing, yet what caution against air! what stopping of crevices! what wrapping up in warm clothes! what stuffing of doors

and windows, even in the midst of summer! take the air; three or four persons in a Many London families go out once a day to coach, one perhaps sick these go three or four miles, or as many turns in Hyde Park, with the glasses both up close, all breathing over and over again the the same air they brought out of town with them in the coach, with the least change possible, and rendered worse and worse every moment;—and this they call taking the air. From many years observations on mysel and others, I am persuaded we are on a wrong scent in supposing moist or cold air the causes of that disorder we call a cold; some unknown quality in the air, may perhaps produce colds, as in the influenza; but generally, I apprehend they are the effect of too full living in proportion to our exercise."

From the following hints on the nature of fire, it is evident that this acute experimentalist had correct notions of caloric:

"I have long been of opinion, that it exists every where in the state of a subtle fluid. That too much of that fluid in our flesh, gives us the sensation we call heattoo little, cold-its vibrations, light. That all solid or fluid substances which are inflammable, have been composed of it; their dissolution, in returning to their original fluid state, we call fire. This subtle fluid is attracted by plants and animals in their growth, and consolidated; is attracted by other substances, thermometers, &c. invariably; has a particular affinity with water,

The panting apprehension, quick to feel, The shrinking grace that fain would grace conceal;

The beautiful rebuke that looks surprise,
The gentle vengeance of averted eyes;
These are its arms, and these supreme pre-
vail.

Ask the grey pilgrim by the surges cast On hostile shores, and numbed beneath the blast,

Ask who revived him? who the hearth began
To kindle? who with spilling goblet ran?
O he will dart one spark of youthful flame,
And clasp his withered hands, and woman
p. 33.

Dame.

This recalls forcibly to our recollection the pathetic little song by the Duchess of Devonshire on the hospitality of a negro woman to the enterprizing traveller Mungo Park:

The loud wind roar'd, the rain fell fast,
The white man yielded to the blast;
He sat him down beneath the tree,
For weary, sad, and faint was he:
But ah! no wife or mother's care
For him the milk or corn prepare.

The storm is o'er-the tempest past,
And mercy's voice has hushed the blast:
The wind is heard in whispers low :
The white man far away must go;
But ever in his heart will bear
Remembrance of the Negro's care.
Ledyard also beautifully eulogizes the
fair sex in his verses entitled "The Cha-
racter of Women;" he tells us that they

are

"Alive to every tender feeling,

To deeds of mercy ever prone;
The wounds of pain and sorrow healing
With soft compassion's sweetest tone.
Form'd in benevolence of nature,

Obliging, modest, gay, and mild,
Woman's the same endearing creature,
In courtly town, and savage wild.
When parch'd with thirst—with hunger
wasted,

Her friendly hand refreshment gave; How sweet the coarsest food has tasted, What cordial in the simple wave! Her courteous looks-her words caressing, Shed comfort on the fainting soul; Woman's the stranger's general blessing From sultry India to the Pole!" Surely Mr. Barrett has never seen these lines, or he would not have asserted, that woman has found no champion in the field of English poetry." Certainly no one ever advocated her cause so effectually as he has done in the poem before s; but we will continue our extracts.After describing the difference of the pursuits and characteristics of each sex,

55

charms.

p. 48.

We wonder it should not have occurred to our author to place woman in the most interesting situation possible, by representing her as the sweet soother of our cares amid the storms of adversity, and ready to endure deep and protracted anguish for the sake of the object beloved. These beautiful lines from Marmion might have furnished him with the hint

"Oh Woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made,
When pain and sickness wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!”

Or these from Dodsley's fragment, entitled "The Wife,"

Does fortune smile, how grateful must it prove

To tread life's pleasing round with one we love?

Or does she frown? the fair with softening