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he studied for some time at Oxford, but ultimately came to depend chiefly on literature for support. His latter years were marked by misfortunes, under the pressure of which he addressed some beautiful verses to his wife :
Address to a Wife. Oh, hadst thou never shared my fate, But there are true hearts which the sight More dark that fate would prove,
Of sorrow summons forth; My heart were truly desolate
Though known in days of past delight, Wi thy soothing love.
We knew not half their worth. But thou hast suffered for my sake, How unlike some who have professed Whilst this relief I found,
So much in friendship's name, Like fearless lips that strive to take Yet calmly pause to think how best The poison from a wound.
They may evade her claim. My fond affection thou hast seen,
But ah ! from them to thee I turn,
They'd make me loathe mankind,
From thy more holy mind.
I feel they cannot take : Proves more unchanging love for me We'll pray for happier years to come, Than laboured words could speak.
For one another's sake.
Oh, NO! We never Mention Him.
Oh no! we never mention him, his name is never heard ;
But if he loves as I have loved, he never can forget. This amiable poet died of jaundice in 1839. His songs contain the pathos of a section of our social system; but they are more calculated to attract attention by their refined and happy diction, than to melt us by their feeling. Several of them, as · The Soldier's Tear,' 'She Wore a Wreath of Roses;' Oh, no! We never Mention Him;' and 'We met—'twas in a crowd,' attained to an extraordinary popularity. Of his livelier ditties, 'I'd be a Butterfly' was the most felicitous: it expresses the Horatian philosophy in terms exceeding even Horace in gaiety.
What though you tell me each gay little rover
Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day:
To die when all fair things are fading away.
Means of procuring a weary delay-
THE REV. JOHN KEBLE. In 1827 appeared a volume of sacred poetry, entitled “The Christian Year: Thoughts in Verse for the Sundays and Holidays throughout the Year. The work has had extraordinary success. The object of the author was to bring the thoughts and feelings of his readers into more entire unison with those recommended and exemplified in the English Prayer-Book, and some of his little poems have great tenderness, beauty, and devotional feeling. Thus, on the text: So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city' (Genesis, xi. 8), we have this descriptive passage: Since all that is not Heaven must fade, Far opening down some woodland deep Light be the hand of Ruin laid
In their own quiet glades should sleep Upon the home I love:
The relics dear to thought, With Iulling spell let soft Decay
And wild-flower wreaths from side to side Steal on, and spare the Giant sway, Their wavering tracery hang, to hide The crash of tower and grove.
What ruthless Time has wrought. Another text (Proverbs, xiv. 10) suggests a train of touching sentiment:
Why should we faint and fear to live alone,
Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die,
Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh?
Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart,
Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart.
Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity. The vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry.-Habakkuk, ii 3.
The morning mist is cleared away,
Faded yet full, a paler green
Sweet messenger of calm decay,'
Saluting sorrow as you may,
In thee, and in this quiet mead,
The lesson of sweet peace I read,
'Tis a low chant, according well
Most welcome to the chastened ear
O cheerful tender strain! the heart
Though gone and spent its joyous prime,
And on the world's autumnal time,
That is the heart for thoughtful seer,
His spirit calmed the storm to meet,
That is the heart for watchman true
Waiting to see what God will do,
No more he strains his wistful eye,
If chance the golden hours be nigh,
Forced from his showy paradise,
Contented in his darkling round,
When from the east th' eternal morning moves. The Rev. JOHN KEBLE (1792–1866), author of "The Christian Year,' was the son of a country clergyman, vicar of Coln-St-Aldwinds, Gloucestershire. At the early age of fifteen he was elected a scholar of Corpus Christi, Oxford, and having distinguished himself both in classics and mathematics was in 1811 elected to a Fellowship at Oriel. He was for some years tutor and examiner at Oxford, but afterwards lived with his father, and assisted him as curate. The publication of The Christian Year,' and the marvellous success of the work, brought its author prominently before the public, and in 1833 he was appointed professor of poetry at Oxford. About the same time the Tractarian movement began, having originated in a sermon on national apostacy, preached by Keble in 1833; Newman became leader of the party, and after he had gone over to the Church of Rome, Keble was chief adviser and counsellor. He also wrote some of the more important Tracts, inculcating, as has been said, “deep submission to authority, implicit reverence for Catholic tradition, firm belief in the divine prerogatives of the priesthood, the real nature of the sacraments, and the danger of independent speculation.' Such principles, fettering the understanding, are never likely
* It shall come to pass in that day, that the light shall not be clear, nor dark. -- Zecha. riah, xiv. 6.
to be popular, but they were held by Keble with saint-like sincerity and simplicity of character. In 1835, the poetical divine became vicar of Hursley, near Winchester. In 1846, he published a second volume of poems, ‘Lyra Innocentium,' and he was author of a 'Life of Wilson, Bishop of Sodor and Man,' and editor of an edition of Hooker's Works.' The poetry of Keble is characterized by great delicacy and purity both of thought and expression. It is occasionally prosaic and feeble, but always wears a sort of apostolic air, and wins its way to the heart.
NOEL THOMAS CARRINGTON, A Devonshire poet, MR. CARRINGTON (1777–1830), has celebrated some of the scenery and traditions of his native district in pleasing
His works have been collected into two volumes, and consist of “The Banks of Tamar,' 1820; ‘Dartmoor’ (his best poem), 1826; • My Native Village;' and miscellaneous pieces.
The Pixies of Devon. The age of pixies, like that of chivalry, is gone. There is, perhaps, at present, scarcely a house which they are reputed to visit. Even the fields and lanes which they formerly frequented seem to be nearly forsaken.. Their music is rarely heard; and they appear to have forgotten to attend their ancient midnight dance. -DREW'S
They are flown.
The very streams
And, unreproved, upon their ravishing forms
And by gifted eyes were seen
The seasons came
Are passionless and silent !
ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM. The Rev. FRANCIS WRANGHAM (1769–1843), rector of Hunmanby, Yorkshire, and archdeacon of Chester, in 1795 wrote a prize poem on the 'Restoration of the Jews,' and translations in verse. He was the author of four Seaton prize-poems on sacred subjects, several sermons, an edition of Langhorne’s Plutarch, and dissertations on the British empire in the East, on the translation of the Scriptures into the oriental languages, &c. His occasional translations from the Greek and Latin, and his macaronic verses, or sportive classical effusions among his friends, were marked by fine taste and felicitous adaptation. He continued his favourite studies to the close of his long life, and was the ornament and delight of the society in which he moved.
HENRY FRANCIS CARY.
The Rev. HENRY FRANCIS CARY (1772-1844), by his translation of Dante, has earned a high and lasting reputation. He was early distinguished as a classical scholar at Christ's Church, Oxford, and familiar with almost the whole range of Italian, French, and English