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OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.

Who "long as memory holds her seat" shall view
That speechless, more than spoken last adieu,
When the fix'd eye long look'd connubial faith,
And beam'd affection in the trance of death.
Sad was the pomp that yesternight beheld,

As with the mourner's heart the anthem swell'd;
While torch succeeding torch illumed each high
And banner'd arch of England's chivalry.
The rich plumed canopy, the gorgeous pall,
The sacred march, and sable-vested wall,-
These were not rites of inexpressive shew,
But hallow'd as the types of real woe!
Daughter of England! for a nation's sighs,
A nation's heart went with thine obsequies !—
And oft shall time revert a look of grief

On thine existence, beautiful and brief.

71

72

ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.

Fair spirit! send thy blessing from above
On realms where thou art canonized by love!
Give to a father's, husband's bleeding mind,
The peace that angels lend to human kind;
To us who in thy loved remembrance feel
A sorrowing, but a soul-ennobling zeal--
A loyalty that touches all the best

And loftiest principles of England's breast!

Still may thy name speak concord from the tomb-
Still in the Muse's breath thy memory bloom!
They shall describe thy life-thy form pourtray;
But all the love that mourns thee swept away,
'Tis not in language or expressive arts
To paint-ye feel it, Britons, in your hearts!

LINES

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, Than stamp'd upon my thoughts I bear The image of your worth, my friend!—

We are not friends of yesterday ;

But poet's fancies are a little Disposed to heat and cool, (they say,)By turns impressible and brittle.

Well! should its frailty e'er condemn My heart to prize or please you less, Your type is still the sealing gem,

And mine the waxen brittleness.

What transcripts of my weal and woe

This little signet yet may lock,— What utt'rances to friend or foe,

In reason's calm or passion's shock!

What scenes of life's yet curtain'd page

May own its confidential die, Whose stamp awaits th' unwritten page, And feelings of futurity!

Yet wheresoe'er my pen I lift
To date th' epistolary sheet,

The blest occasion of the gift

Shall make its recollection sweet;

Sent when the star that rules

your

fates

Hath reach'd its influence most benign—

When every heart congratulates,

And none more cordially than mine.

So speed my song-mark'd with the crest
That erst th' advent'rous Norman *

wore,

Who won the Lady of the West,
The daughter of Macaillain Mor.

* A Norman leader, in the service of the king of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and from him the Campbells are sprung.

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