FESULAN IDYL. HERE,where precipitate Spring with one light bound At what they seemed to show me with their nods, ! Unbending, brittle, lucid, white like snow, TO IANTHE. WHILE the winds whistle round my cheerless room, That fires the poet, or informs the sage, Wishes may rise, and tears may flow in vain. Here will I sit, 'till heaven shall cease to lour, TO CORINTH. QUEEN of the double sea, beloved of him But, O queen, "Stay! spare him! save the last! Medea!-is that blood? again! it drops From my imploring hand upon my feet! I will invoke the Eumenides no more. I will forgive thee-bless thee-bend to thee "And shall I too deceive ?" Thee and the stranger, how defaced and scarred To give the inertest masses of our earth Her loveliest forms was thine, to fix the gods Within thy walls, and hang their tripods round With fruits and foliage knowing not decay. A nobler work remains: thy citadel Invites all Greece; o'er lands and floods remote Many are the hearts that still beat high for thee: Confide then in thy strength, and unappalled Look down upon the plain, while yokemate kings Run bellowing, where their herdsmen goad them on; Instinct is sharp in them, and terror true— They smell the floor whereon their necks must lie. STANZAS. SAY ye, that years roll on and ne'er return? Say ye, the sun who leaves them all behind, Their great creator, cannot bring one back With all his force, though he draw worlds around? Witness me, little streams! that meet before My happy dwelling; witness, Africo And Mensola! that ye have seen at once Twenty roll back, twenty as swift and bright As are your swiftest and your brightest waves, When the tall cypress o'er the Doccia Hurls from his inmost boughs the latent snow. Go, and go happy, pride of my past days And solace of my present, thou whom fate Alone hath sever'd from me! One step higher Must yet be mounted, high as was the last : Friendship, with faltering accent, says depart! And take the highest seat below the crown'd. WORSHIP GOD ONLY. Ines. Revere our holy church; though some within Have erred, and some are slow to lead us right, Stopping to pry when staff and lamp should be In hand, and the way whiten underneath. Pedro. Ines, the church is now a charnel-house, Where all that is not rottenness is drowth. Thou hast but seen its gate hung round with flowers, And heard the music whose serenest waves Cover its gulfs and dally with its shoals, And hold the myriad insects in light play Above it, loth to leave its sunny sides. Look at this central edifice! come close! Men's bones and marrow its materials are, Men's groans inaugurated it, men's tears Sprinkle its floor, fires lighted up with men Are censers for it; agony and anger Surround it night and day with sleepless eyes; Dissimulation, terror, treachery, Denunciations of the child, the parent, The sister, brother, lover, (mark me, Ines!) Are the peace-offerings God receives from it. Ines. I tremble-but betrayers tremble more. Now cease, cease, Pedro! cling I must to somewhat: Leave me one guide, one rest! Let me love God! Alone-if it must be so! Pedro. Him alone Mind; in him only place thy trust henceforth. THE TAMED DORMOUSE. THERE is a creature, dear to Heaven, Tiny and weak, to whom is given To enjoy the world while suns are bright, And shut grim winter from its sightTamest of hearts that beat on wilds, Tamer and tenderer than a child'sThe Dormouse-this he loved and taught (Docile it is the day it's caught, And fond of music, voice or string) To stand before and hear her sing, Or lie within her palm half-closed, Until another's interposed, And claim'd the alcove wherein it lay, Or held it with divided sway. TO A DEAD CHILD. CHILD of a day, thou knowest not The tears that overflow thy urn, The gushing eyes that read thy lot, Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return! And why the wish? the pure and blest Watch like thy mother o'er thy sleep; O peaceful night! O envied rest! Thou wilt not ever see her weep. ON THE DEATH OF SOUTHEY. Nor the last struggle of the sun, Nearer, though high above, who ran Thus, O thou pure of earthly taint! Thus, O my SoUTHEY! poet, sage, and saint, Thou, after saddest silence, art removed. What voice in anguish can we raise ? Thee would we, need we, dare we praise? God now does that-the God thy whole heart loved. SIXTEEN. IN Clementina's artless mien Lucilla asks me what I see, And are the roses of sixteen Enough for me? Lucilla asks, if that be all; I now behold another scene, Where pleasure beams with heaven's own light, More pure, more constant, more serene, And not less bright. Faith, on whose breast the loves repose, Whose chain of flowers no force can sever; And modesty, who, when she goes, Is gone for ever. REPENTANCE OF KING RODERIGO. THERE is, I hear, a poor half-ruined cell Till, such the natural stillness of the place, I know not, nor inquired-a scene of blood, Walked slowly, and behind him was a man PASSAGE FROM IPPOLITO DI ESTE. Ippolito. He saw his error. Ferrante. All men do when age Bends down their heads, or gold shines in their way. Ippolito. Although I would have helpt you in distress, And just removed you from the court awhile, Ferrante. Called thee tyrant? I? By heaven! in tyrant there is something great By maddest rage than clay-cold apathy. MORNING. Now to Aurora borne by dappled steeds, The sacred gate of orient pearl and gold, Smitten with Lucifer's light silver wand, Expanded slow to strains of harmony; The waves beneath in purpling rows, like doves Glancing with wanton coyness tow'rd their queen, Heaved softly; thus the damsel's bosom heaves When from her sleeping lover's downy cheek, To which so warily her own she brings Each moment nearer, she perceives the warmth Of coming kisses fann'd by playful dreams. Ocean and earth and heaven was jubilee. For 'twas the morning pointed out by fate When an immortal maid and mortal man Should share each other's nature knit in bliss. CLIFTON. CLIFTON, in vain thy varied scenes invite- A CATHEDRAL SCENE. Now all the people follow the procession: I could have fancied purer light descended, EPITAPH ON A POET IN A WELSH CHURCHYARD. KIND Souls! who strive what pious hand shall bring THE DRAGON-FLY. LIFE (priest and poet say) is but a dream; AN ARAB TO HIS MISTRESS. Look thou yonder, look and tremble, Tost the imploring arm away. All that shields us, all that charms us, Night may send to rave and ravage But their manners, harsh and savage, When the waves of life surround thee, Quenching oft the light of love, When the clouds of doubt confound thee, Drive not from thy breast the dove. JOHN LEYDEN. DR. LEYDEN was born at Denholm, a village | enjoy some portion of the creative powers of the poet himself. Nowhere laboured, studied, or affected, he writes in a stream of natural eloquence, which shows the entire predominance of his emotion over his art." Dr. LEYDEN sailed for Madras in the spring of 1803, and immediately after his arrival entered the service of the East India Com of the time until his death. He devoted the intervals of business, when health permitted, to the laborious study of the literature and languages of the eastern nations. He made elegant translations from the Persian, Arabic, and Sanscrit, wrote several valuable philological tracts, and grammars of the Malay, Pracrit and other languages. In 1810 he resigned the office of Commissioner of Requests, and was preferred to that of Assayer of the Mint at Calcutta, with less arduous duties and a more liberal salary. In 1811 his services were required in the expedition against Java, and he sailed from Cal on the borders of Teviotdale, in Scotland, in the autumn of 1775. His father was a shepherd farmer, whose humble cottage was the home of piety and content. Young LEYDEN entered the parish school of Kirktown when nine years of age, and continued his studies there for about three years, when he was removed to a private academy kept by a Came-pany, in which he continued the larger portion ronian clergyman who prepared him for the university. At Edinburgh he was a member of literary societies with Lord BROUGHAM, Dr. THOMAS BROWN, Lord JEFFREY, and the Rev. SIDNEY SMITH. After completing his classical course with distinguished reputation, he studied theology, and in 1795 was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of St. Andrews. He did not succeed very well in the pulpit, and soon abandoned it to enter upon a literary life. His first production was an "Historical and Descriptive Account of Discoveries in Africa," published in 1798, and his second, an edition of "The Complaynt of Scotland," an old and scarce tract, to which he added an elaborate preliminary essay and a glossary. In 1799 he became acquainted with Scorт, to whom he gave valuable aid in the preparation of The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," which appeared in 1801. In 1802, having previously obtained the degree of Doctor of Medicine from the university of St. Andrews, he went to London with a view to embark for India, and while there prepared for the press his "Scenes of Infancy," a poem of considerable merit, in which he combines interesting allusions to local history and superstition with graphic description of the scenery amid which he passed his early years. Of this poem it has been said by a judicious critic, that "in genuine feeling and fancy, as well as in harmony and elegance of composition, it can encounter very few rivals in the English language. It touches so many of the genuine strings of the lyre, with the hand of inspiration; it draws forth so many tender notes, and carries our eyes and our hearts so utterly among those scenes with which the real bard is conversant, that we for a moment cutta under Lord MINTO on the ninth of March which was said to contain some Javanese LEYDEN is said to have been pedantic and vain; but he had many admirable social qualities, and those who were most intimately acquainted with his character were his warmest friends. Sir WALTER SCOTT alludes to him in the following lines from the "Lord of the Isles," written soon after his death:His bright and brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains; Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour ;A distant and a deadly shore Has LEYDEN's cold remains! |