EMILY, IMITATED FROM AN IRISH SONNET BY ERANCIS SKURRAY A. M. T'was near the white thorn on the brow of the vale, Dear joy of my heart, my Emily rise; More fair than the bright-beaming morn, More chaste than the rose-bud when weeping with dew, More sweet than the blossoming thorn. Thy looks are serene, as when clear'd by the sun Thy hair, as the Raven's smooth pinions, is black; Thy neck is as fair as the Swan's silver plumes; My Emily rise, the sun's sprightly beams The heath all its blossoms to greet thee reserves; Thy lover, tho' timid, will snatch from the crag My queen sweetly-smiling, oh! when shall we meet How long wilt thou leave me, my Emily, say, I sorrowing sit the lone son of the rock Thy beauties I tell to the rude passing gale Whenever thou comest, thou welcome wilt come, As summer preceded by frost: My Emily's image will gladden my eyes, STANZAS, To the Memory of Robert Bourne, Esq. Fourth Son of the Rev. Richard Bourne, of Dublin, in the County of Tyrone, in the twenty-fourth year of his age." BY MR. DAVID CAREY, AUTHOR OF "THE PLEASures of nature.” &c. WHEN the Warrior expires on his path of renown Tho' Mercy ne'er hallowed and Pity disown, The breast that ne'er felt her compassionate throes. But when Worth, modest Worth, like a star beam that fell, Is withdrawn to his own empyrean of light, How few, ah, how few! round his cold earthly cell Heave the deep sigh of sorrow, and weep for his flight! *He possessed a mind richly imbued with sound learning and christian principles, joined to great and active benevolence, which could only be exceeded by that of his estimable friend Dr. Robert Anderson, of Edinburgh, author of " the Lives of the Britisla Poets," in whose house he had resided for some time, and who accompanied him on his visit to Ireland, Yet bosoms there are, O! the dearest, the best, Who soothe the lone wanderer's pulses to rest, And such o'er thy doom, lov'd, unfortunate BOURNE ! As some bark that has glean'd, as she travers'd the deep, The gems of the Orient, the pride of the wave, Hails, joyfully hails, lovely Albion's green steep,When loud roars the tempest, and deep yawns the grave; So gaily we saw thee on life's summer sea The regions of Science and Fancy explore, Then seek each fond scene dear to friendship and thee, And breathe thy last sigh on thy lov'd native shore. When the blooms of thy mind, like the Spring met the eye, How bright was the prospect that Fancy pourtray'd!Now faded, ah! faded for ever, they lie Where the green turf of Erin now covers thy head; And Friendship his fond ineffectual care For a child that was lovely and dear to her heart. "Tis thus as we journey life's dark valley through, Bright sunbeams of Hope oft illumine the road;→→→ How brightly, alas! but how transient too! For love, hope, and joy, find one gulphing abode. But pass undismay'd, O ye righteous! the bound; And the Cherubim train their glad welcome extending, Heaven's triumph recording, her loud organ blow For a soul from the confines of Darkness ascending, That has trod the lone blood-press of Death and of Woe ! Then weep not the pleasures so fading and dear, your God. EPIGRAM, on the celebrated Madam La Valliere. From the French. In ancient days arose a fane, Where every lover knelt to impart Could such a temple now be found, S. W. I. |