DRURY'S DIRGE.

[BY LAURA MATILDA.—REJECTED ADDRESSES.]

HORACE SMITH.

"You praise our sires: but though they wrote with force, Their rhymes were vicious, and their diction coarse:

We want their strength, agreed; but we atone

For that and more, by sweetness all our own."-GIFFORD.

BALMY Zephyrs, lightly flitting,

Shade me with your azure wing;

On Parnassus' summit sitting,
Aid me, Clio, while I sing.

Softly slept the dome of Drury
O'er the empyreal crest,
When Alecto's sister-fury

Softly slumbering sunk to rest.

Lo! from Lemnos, limping lamely,
Lags the lowly Lord of Fire,
Cytherea yielding tamely

To the Cyclops dark and dire.

Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness,
Dulcet joys and sports of youth,
Soon must yield to haughty sadness,
Mercy holds the vail to Truth.

See Erostratus the second
Fires again Diana's fane;
By the Fates from Orcus beckoned,
Clouds envelop Drury Lane.

Lurid smoke and frank suspicion

Hand in hand reluctant dance:
While the god fulfills his mission,
Chivarly, resign thy lance.

Hark! the engines blandly thunder,
Fleecy clouds disheveled lie,
And the firemen, mute with wonder,
On the son of Saturn cry.

See the bird of Ammon sailing,
Perches on the engine's peak,
And, the Eagle firemen hailing,
Soothes them with its bickering beak.

Thus fell Drury's lofty glory,

Leveled with the shuddering stones; Mars, with tresses black and gory, Drinks the dew of pearly groans.

Hark! what soft Eolian numbers
Gem the blushes of the morn!
Break, Amphion, break your slumbers,
Nature's ringlets deck the thorn.

Ha! I hear the strain erratic

Dimly glance from pole to pole; Raptures sweet, and dreams ecstatic Fire my everlasting soul.

Where is Cupid's crimson motion?
Billowy ecstasy of woe,

Bear me straight, meandering ocean,
Where the stagnant torrents flow.

Blood in every vein is gushing,
Vixen vengeance lulls my heart;
See, the Gorgon gang is rushing!
Never, never, let us part!

WHAT IS LIFE?

BY "ONE OF THE FANCY."

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE

AND do you ask me, "What is LIFE?"

And do you ask me, "What is pleasure?"
My muse and I are not at strife,

So listen, lady, to my measure:—
Listen amid thy graceful leisure,
To what is LIFE, and what is pleasure.
'Tis LIFE to see the first dawn stain
With sallow light the window-pane:
To dress-to wear a rough drab coat,
With large pearl buttons all afloat
Upon the waves of plush: to tie
A kerchief of the King-cup dye
(White spotted with a small bird's-eye)
Around the neck, and from the nape
Let fall an easy fan-like cape:

To quit the house at morning's prime,
At six or so-about the time

When watchmen, conscious of the day
Puff out their lantern's rush-light ray;
Just when the silent streets are strewn
With level shadows, and the moon
Takes the day's wink and walks aside
To nurse a nap till eventide.

'Tis LIFE to reach the livery stable,
Secure the ribbons and the day-bill,
And mount a gig that had a spring
Some summer's back: and then take wing
Behind (in Mr. Hamlet's tongue)
A jade whose "withers are unwrung;
Who stands erect, and yet forlorn,
And from a half-pay life of corn,
Showing as many points each way
As Martial's Epigrammata,
Yet who, when set a-going, goes
Like one undestined to repose.
'Tis LIFE to revel down the road,
And queer each o'erfraught chaise's load;

To rave and rattle at the gate,

And shower upon the gatherer's pate Damns by the dozens, and such speeches

As well betokens one 's slang riches:

To take of Deady's bright stark naked

A glass or so-'tis LIFE to take it!

To see the Hurst with tents encampt on;
Lurk around Lawrence's at Hampton;
Join the flash crowd (the horse being led
Into the yard, and clean'd and fed);
Talk to Dav' Hudson, and Cy' Davis
(The last a fighting rara avis),
And, half in secret, scheme a plan
For trying the hardy Gas-light-Man.
'Tis LIFE to cross the laden ferry,
With boon companions, wild and merry,
And see the ring upon the Hurst
With carts encircled-hear the burst
At distance of the eager crowd.
Oh, it is LIFE! to see a proud
And dauntless man step, full of hopes,
Up to the P. C. stakes and ropes,
Throw in his hat, and with a spring,
Get gallantly within the ring;

Eye the wide crowd, and walk awhile,
Taking all cheerings with a smile:
To see him skip-his well-trained form,
White, glowing, muscular, and warm,
All beautiful in conscious power,
Relaxed and quiet, till the hour;
His glossy and transparent frame,
In radiant plight to strive for fame!
To look upon the clean shap'd limb
In silk and flannel clothed trim;
While round the waist the 'kerchief tied,
Makes the flesh glow in richer pride.
'Tis more than LIFE, to watch him hold
His hand forth, tremulous yet bold,
Over his second's, and to clasp
His rival's in a quiet grasp;

To watch the noble attitude

He takes the crowd in breathless mood:

And then to see, with adamant start,
The muscles set, and the great heart
Hurl a courageous splendid light
Into the eye-and then-the FIGHT!

FRAGMENTS.

[BY A FREE-LOVER.]

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE, 1823.

THEY were not married by a muttering priest,
With superstitious rites, and senseless words,
Out-snuffled from an old worm-eaten book,
In a dark corner (railed off like a sheep-pen)
Of an old house, that fools do call a Church!
Their altar was the flowery lap of earth-
The starry empyrean their vast temple-
Their book each other's eyes-and Love himself,
Parson, and Clerk, and Father to the bride! —
Holy espousals! whereat wept with joy
The spirit of the universe.-In sooth
There was a sort of drizzling rain that day,
For I remember (having left at home
My parapluie, a name than umbrella
Far more expressive) that I stood for shelter
Under an entry not twelve paces off

(It might be ten) from Sheriff Waithman's shop,
For half an hour or more, and there I mused
(Mine eyes upon the running kennel fixed,
That hurried as a het'rogenous mass
To the common sewer, it's dark reservoir),
I mused upon the running stream of life!

But that's not much to the purpose-I was telling
Of these most pure espousals.-Innocent pair!
Ye were not shackled by the vulgar chains
About the yielding mind of credulous youth,
Wound by the nurse and priest-your energies,
Your unsophisticated impulses,

Taught ye to soar above their "settled rules
Of Vice and Virtue." Fairest ercature! He