Sweet slumbers bless the brave: There shall the breezes shed perfume, Nor livid lightnings blast the bloom

That decks Mahali's grave.

BRYAN EDWARDS.

TO HOPE.

THEY err who deem thee of celestial race,
Nymph of the ceaseless smile,
Thine is no angel face,

O treacherous Hope, who flatterest to beguile.
Thou wert, indeed, fair spirit, born in heaven;

But from the realm of bliss
Thy faithless form was driven

With those who plunged into the deep abyśs.

So still thy dazzling lineaments display
The hue of heavenly birth;
And mortals own thy sway,

Deem'd the good angel of the sons of earth.
Thou, when the traveller of the moonless night
Gropes o'er the moor his way,
Showest the watery light

That tempts the wretched wanderer far astray.

The dear illusion makes his heart rejoice,

He hastens wildly on

And now he lifts his voice

And louder now-and now the light is gone.

Thou hearest him as to the water side

A wretched man he moves,
And when beneath the tide,

Groaning, he sinks, remembering all he loves.

And when the mountainous ocean swells and raves,

When the ship sinks beneath,

Thou makest on the waves

The mariner endure protracted death.

Long buoy'd by thee, with miserable eye
He gazes round and round,
And thinks he can descry

The distant vessel o'er the billows bound.

Oh, happy, if by no vain wish possess'd,
When mid the waters cast,
Despair had fill'd his breast,

Soon had he perish'd, and the pang been past.
Fool! he who trusts thee in the evil hour,

Thou parasite of grief,

Whose false and boasting power Can only promise, never bring relief.

ΑΝΟΝΥΜOUS.

TO THE RIVER TEIGN.

Он Thou! the guardian of each floweret pale

That decks thy lonely brim; whether thy car, Hoarse murmuring from afar,

[stray,

Foams down the dark and solitary vale;
Or through yon meads thy peaceful current roves,
Where, mid the pendent umbrage pleased to
Thou shunn'st the noontide ray
Which gilds the' encircling majesty of groves ;
Hail, holy sire! whilst keen remorse corrodes,
Sicken'd with pleasure's pangs, this aching
Thy freshening streams impart,

[heart,

And take, oh, take me to thy bless'd abodes!

VOL. III.

S

But if, led on by Heaven's decree to explore The depths and shoals of fortune, once again I trust the faithless main,

Torn from thy desert caves and solemn roar; Give me at length, from storms secure, and woes Of latest age, to lose the silent hours,

And in thy awful bowers

Enshroud me far from men, in deep repose.

BAMPFYLDE.

TO THE POPPY.

Not for the promise of the labour'd field,
Not for the good the yellow harvests yield,

I bend at Ceres' shrine;

For dull to humid eyes appear
The golden glories of the year;

Alas! a melancholy worship's mine!
I hail the goddess for her scarlet flower.
Thou brilliant weed

That dost so far exceed

The richest gifts gay Flora can bestow, Heedless I pass'd thee in Life's morning hour (Thou comforter of woe),

Till Sorrow taught me to confess thy power.

In early days, when Fancy cheats,

A various wreath I wove

Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets,
To deck ungrateful Love;

The rose or thorn my numbers crown'd,
As Venus smiled or Venus frown'd.

But Love and Joy and all their train are flown,
And I will sing of thee alone;

Unless perchance the attributes of grief,
The cypress bud and willow leaf,

Their pale funereal foliage blend with thine.

Hail, lovely blossom! thou canst ease

The wretched victims of disease;

Canst close those weary eyes in gentle sleep

Which never open but to weep;

For, oh! thy potent charm

Can agonizing Pain disarm;

Expel imperious Memory from her seat,
And bid the throbbing heart forget to beat.
Soul-soothing plant! that canst such blessings give,
By thee the mournér bears to live,

By thee the wretched die!
Oh! ever friendly to despair,
Might Sorrow's pallid votary dare,
Without a crime, that remedy implore

Which bids the spirit from its bondage fly,
I'd court thy palliative aid no more!
No more I'd sue that thou shouldst spread
Thy spell around my aching head,
But would conjure thee to impart
Thy balsam for a broken heart;
And by thy soft Lethean power
(Inestimable flower!)

Burst these terrestrial bonds, and other regions
HON. MRS. O'NEIL.

try.

TO THE WILLOW.

SEE Nature's fairest gift appear,
The promise of the blooming year,
The rose has burst her infant bands,
And gay in Summer's pride expands;

Queen of flowers, how bright her hue,
Spangled o'er with morning dew;
From her breast what sweets exhale
At eve, when Zephyr's lingering gale,
Loath to quit the fond delight,

Flings her refreshing odours to the night!
Pleasure's joyous votaries, haste,
Not one precious moment waste,
Make those precious charms your own,
Seize them now they're fully blown;
And, while they grace your flowing hair,
Give no thought to absent Care ;
Come, with frolic sport advance,
Lead the joy-inspiring dance,
Whilst Music's fascinating powers
Wake to mirth the laughing hours!

For me a wreath does Fate provide,

A chaplet meet to deck the bride
Who weds Despair-the pallid cypress here
Shall mix'd with dark funereal yew appear.
Ah! never should thy fragrant breath,
Sweet rose, be wasted in the cave of Death;
There must the nuptial feast be shortly spread,
There the stern bridegroom waits-my bridal

guests the dead.

Then not for me, too lavish rose,
Spread thy robe of crimson hue;
Far hence thy balmy sweets disclose,
Whilst I the weeping willow woo.

When the wild winds impetuous blow,
And lay the trembling forest low,