As vice can chain the body with disease, -Man's soul, at first, was pure and innocent; His punishment immutable :--tho' Heaven I thunder, what Eternity approvesIf man be damned for ever-he's self damn'd! "Philosophy-shall teach me how to die!" Thou often saidst-but Death was distant then! At last he came-and burst thy study door, Where solitude and metaphysics reign'd; Where dusky folios shed a solemn gloom, For abstract mathematic reasonings meet: His white arm pluck'd thee from thy cushion'd chair He laugh'd to see thy diagrams;-puff'd out the lamp, And flung thee gasping on a bed of death. How's this, Philosopher?-Why writhe thy limbs? Why sweats thy brow?-Why clench thy clammy hands? Call up philosophy-and die a man, As Socrates and Epicurus did: Recall to mind thy favourite sentiment : "Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere caussas; Atque metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari!" Ay; this is manly: at last thou liest still, With philosophic calmness.-Ah! that start! That rigid frame in strong convulsions lock'd! Hell gleameth in that fixed--staring eye!— What dost thou see?-thou glar'st on every side! Oh, that unearthly laugh!-like echo faint Offiendish yells, and sulphurous billow's dash! Despair hath grasp'd thy thought-indented brow; Despair hath bound thy classic tongue! Despair Hath broke the laboured framework of thy mind, Which saith, "A myriad worlds for half an hour!" Thy soul outweighs the universe! but now, Not all the starry realms an hour can buy! Perchance 'tis not too late! oh, spirit, look! Before thy sinking eye the glorious cross is rear'd! Gaze on those wounds! That blood can save thee yet! Cling to those pierced feet!-Oh kiss the Son. Lest his fierce anger burn thee! Hell, far beneath, Hath pour'd its swarthy legions, to behold Heaven is before thee!-Oh, thy heart beats slow! Believe! Believe!-Before thy darkening eyes For ever close on this celestial scene! That groan bath rent the curtain of thy life! We gaze on-dust! | Oh, chant the dreary dirge of an infidel! — It hath ventur'd alone As it bore him thro' dim eternity! Reason's torchlight Was quench'd in night, Which alone could guide his dreary way! Boom onward, boom-- A startling pomp of terrible light!- Come, spirit, come! Receive thy doom A terrible trump hath peal'd thy name! From that fearful eye Which hath lit the universe into flame! There is music in hell! They are chanting thy knell, They are weaving a burning wreath for thee; Is that fearful choir Go!-join their ghastly revelry! On a throne of flame With hot diadem men, Must these but play their part,' then close their days, Shut up the book of life, then pass away, When first our great forefather Adam sinn'd, When flesh and bone decay, and sinews firm Or living, does it wander throughout space, Or does it sink to those dark dismal shades, Do we but leap at random in the dark? No more I ask these questions, for the word "I am the resurrection and the life ; Ye faithful few shall rise and reign with me." Lord, we believe, and this transporting thought Shall cheer our exit from this lower state. 92.-VOL. VIII. The vale of dread-the shadowy vale of death, Cheer'd by this hope, shall lose its native gloom. Thousands who occupy yon blissful seats Have passed the vale in triumph, and exclaim'd, "Now, now we die in peace, vain world, adieu." And then delightful 'tis to watch around The dying bed, and catch the last, last words Of happiness, that fall from lips which soon Must neither comfort nor instruction yield.. To see a glimpse of glory shine across The brow which clay must soon encompass round. To watch the last convulsive throb that breaks Life's cords, and lets the unfettered soul ascend. And so, much honour'd dust, it was with thee! That tongue had learn'd the language of the bless'd; And ere death's stiffness seized it, utter'd forth Departed spirit! then we mourn thee not; But thinking what thou wast, and what thou art, Resolve to follow thee on earth, as thou There martyrs, prophets, and apostles dwell, THE CLIMBING BOY'S COMPLAINT. BY WILLIAM STONES. "Si genus humanum et mortalia temnitis arma; At seperate deos memores fandi atque nefandi." Virgil. IN Britain's highly favour'd land A climbing boy who scarce could stand His crippled limbs, which once were fair, His milk-white teeth, his tender age, 2 B "They took ber-ah, we know not where, How many tears we shed; The neighbours strove our hearts to cheer, And put us all to bed. "Next morning when we rose from sleep, A mother once so kind We saw not all began to weep, What shall we do?' my sister said, "Till on the most ill-fated day We ever yet had seen, Both George and me he took. "In vain we strove for liberty, But sister ran, and she got free; "Which pierc'd my almost broken heart, "I never shall forget the day, Poor George and I were told, We both with him must go away, And soon we should be sold. "By one we never saw before, And sister Jane we saw no more, "She wept as if her heart would break, "But O! my heart would break to tell : My brother he proposed to sell, "The sweep thought Tommy would be best, The bargain soon was made, So I was torn from George's breast, "The fellow told of his distress, And then pretended me to bless,- "How brother George and I did weep, It seem'd to break his heart! "With my new master far away, "My clothes were both as whole and clean, Myself as fat and fair, As any boy that you have seen, "Nor was I lame, my legs and feet I was as straight as you; But climbing chimneys made me lame, "With pain I pass along the street, When I of want complain. Ye Britons, famed for liberty! O let each heart, and voice, and hand, The blot which long bas stain'd the land, It hath a martial look to see The dying day depart, whilst sunset waves His colours o'er the hero. A day like this Of pure, unsullied blue, seems like the sleep The evening sky a high feast unto fancy Doth oft present. There cloud beyond cloud ranged, Is lessening down the deep horizon, till Immense it seems out-lengthening to heaven's gate, As if you caught the vision of a saint- All this This sees the mariner, and sighs; for he A mountain where the light can find no pass. The hearse came nodding, with its long-drawn train : ON SPRING. (Written in Affliction.) Season of love, delight, and bliss, Disease with its attendant train, Thy genial glow, thy breathing sweet, Thy dews are bright, how sweet thy flow'rs, Before thy blooming glories fade away. 'Tis so below, ephemeral are our joys, Our smile is follow'd by the starting tear, Some worm our gourd of sweetness oft destroys, And leaves the heart all solitary, drear. -ἡ λύρη γὰρ Μονες ἔρωτας ᾄδει. ΑΝΑΚ. LADY! there glittered a crystal tear I mark'd thee-tho' dim and dark was mine eye, Tho' oft was the curtain of vision clos'd, Thine image still glow'd on my mental eye, As the silver star in the evening sky, Burns, with its distant and quivering light, That lovely star in th' horizon still shines, CONFIDENCE AND CREDIT. The day was dark, the markets dull, The 'change was thin, gazettes were full, And half the town was breaking, The countersign of cash was "Stop," Bankers and bankrupts shut up shop; And honest hearts were aching. When near the 'change, my fancy spied A faded form, with hasty stride, Beneath grief's burden stooping; Her name was Credit, and she said, Her father, Trade, was lately dead, Her mother, Commerce, drooping. The smile that she was wont to wear Was withered by the hand of care, Her eyes had lost their lastre ; Her character was gone, she said, A rake not worth a shilling. Then left her broken hearted. While thus poor Credit seemed to sigh, Her cousin, Confidence, came by, (Methinks he must be clever ;) For when he whispered in her ear, She check'd the sigh, she dried the tear, And smiled as sweet as ever. REVIEW.-The Boyne Water. A Tale By the O'Hara Family. In three vols. 8vo. pp. 395, 421, 436. London. Simpkin and Marshall. 1826. THERE is no species of literary composition more likely to attract the general attention of readers than tales. But if these preserve the interest which their titles are calculated to excite, they must be replete with incident, and well saturated with the charms of novelty. The marvellous is an essential ingredient, but something like probability must always be kept in view. When these requisites are combined, expectation is kept alive by gratification, and the reader turns from page to page, closely pursuing the game he has started, and is half pleased with disappointment, even when the phantom eludes his grasp, and mocks his hopes. By the O'Hara family several tales have been sent into the world, and their reception with the public has not been less favourable than that which generally attends this class of literary compositions. This has emboldened the authors to make another attempt; and the result has issued in the three volumes which now lie before us. In their narratives, details, dialogues, and episodes much variety is contained, but we look in vain for some catastrophe that shall reward anticipation for the exercise of its patience, while passing through a parterre of flowers, which exhibit gaudy colours, but yield little or no fragrance. Love, rivalship, inter views, quarrels, duplicity, and blushes, are all wrought into this coat of many colours; but though embroidered with compliment, and variegated with satire, we can find, when it is finished, no person whom it will exactly suit. This is, however, of little consequence, provided it will suit the reader's taste, and the authors' purposes; and that it will do both to a considerable extent, we can hardly entertain a doubt. As an historical, a satirical, and characteristic delineation of manners, this work is not destitute of merit, but many of the dialogues are too trifling and unimportant for the space they occupу. The essence might have been compressed into a much narrower compass; and if these omission would hardly have involved volumes had never appeared, the nature in convulsions. The conversations between the parties, with which this work abounds, contain more vivacity than substance, more sprightliness than energy, more flippancy than sentiment, and much less of utility than entertainment. The authors have given sufficient proof that they understand their business, and have taught us to infer, that without much trouble the volumes might have been extended to a length that is indefinite. Combining the episodes and digressions with the leading features of the principal tale, the characters that flit before us are almost innumerable, so that the deficiencies of sterling worth have found a dazzling substitute in the amplitude of diversity. From an introductory letter, it was natural to expect that we should have found some general outline of the work to which it is prefixed, but for such information we look in vain. Its character resembles that of the chapters which follow; quaint expressions, and epithets singularly associated, broken by unexpected interruptions, that convey little or no meaning, may be ranked among its more prominent features. To the elongation of the tale by wire-drawing the materials, and by concealing both poverty and parsimony under strokes of superficial humour, the attention of the authors has been particularly directed, and in this their efforts have been crowned with some success. |