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Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
'Tis thus with our life : while it
passes along, Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song! Gaily we glide, in the gaze of the world, With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurled ; All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes, Yet chartered by sorrow, and freighted with sighs :Fading and false is the aspect it wears, As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears ; And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know, Like heart-broken exiles lie burning below; Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore,
Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o’er! Literary Souvenir.
BY THE REV. C. HOYLE.
Lord of the dreary Avon, rear sublime
BY HORACE SMITH, ESQ.
In Egypt's centre, when the world was young,
My statue soared aloft,- man-shaped tower, O'er hundred-gated Thebes, by Homer sung,
And built by Apis' and Osiris' power.
When the sun's infant eye more brightly blazed,
I marked the labours of unwearied Time; And saw, by patient centuries up-raised,
Stupendous temples, obelisks sublime !
Hewn from the rooted rock, some mightier mound,
Some new colossus more enormous springs, So vast, so firm, that, as I gazed around,
I thought them, like myself, eternal things.
Then did I mark in sacerdotal state,
Psammis the king, whose alabaster tomb, (Such the inscrutable decrees of fate),
Now floats athwart the sea to share my doom.
O Thebes, I cried, thou wonder of the world!
Still shalt thou soar, its everlasting boast; When lo! the Persian standards were unfurled,
And fierce Cambyses led the invading host.
Where from the East a cloud of dust proceeds,
A thousand bannered suns at once appear; Nought else was seen ;—but sound of neighing steeds,
And faint barbaric music met mine ear.
Onward they march, and foremost I descried
A cuirassed Grecian band, in phalanx dense, Around them thronged, in oriental pride,
Commingled tribes—a wild magnificence.
Dogs, cats, and monkeys in their van they show,
Which Egypt's children worship and obey; They fear to strike a sacrilegious blow,
And fall—a pious, unresisting prey.
Then, Havoc leaguing with infuriate Zeal,
Palaces, temples, cities are o'erthrown; Apis is stabbed !--Cambyses thrusts the steel,
And shuddering Egypt heaved a general groan!
The firm Memnonium mocked their feeble power,
Flames round its granite columns hissed in vain,The head of Isis frowning o'er each tower,
Looked down with indestructible disdain.
Mine was a deeper and more quick disgrace:
Beneath my shade a wondering army flocked, With force combined, they wrenched me from my base,
And earth beneath the dread concussion rocked.
Nile from his banks receded with affright,
The startled Sphinx long trembled at the sound; While from each pyramid's astounded height,
The loosened stones slid rattling to the ground.
I watched, as in the dust supine I lay,
-as I had marked its fame, Till crumbling down, as ages rolled away,
Its site a lonely wilderness became !
The throngs that choaked its hundred gates of yore;
Its fleets, its armies, were no longer seen; Its priesthood's pomp,-its Pharaoh's were no more,
All-all were gone—as if they ne'er had been !
Deep was the silence now, unless some vast
And time-worn fragment thundered to its base; Whose sullen echoes, o'er the desart cast,
Died in the distant solitude of space.
Or haply, in the palaces of kings,
Some stray jackal sate howling on the throne : Or, on the temple's holiest altar, springs
Some gaunt hyæna, laughing all alone.
Nature o'erwhelms the relics left by time;
By slow degrees entombing all the land; She buries every monument sublime,
Beneath a mighty winding-sheet of sand.
Vain is each monarch's unremitting pains,
Who in the rock his place of burial delves ; Behold! their proudest palaces and fanes
Are subterraneous sepulchres themselves.
Twenty-three centuries unmoved I lay,
And saw the tide of sand around me rise ; Quickly it threatened to engulph its prey,
And close in everlasting night mine eyes.
Snatched in this crisis from my yawning grave,
Belzoni rolled me to the banks of Nile, And slowly heaving o'er the western wave,
This massy fragment reached the imperial isle.
In London, now with face erect I gaze
On England's pallid sons, whose eyes upcast, View my colossal features with amaze,
And deeply ponder on my glories past.
But who my future destiny shall guess ?
Saint Paul's may lie—like Memnon's temple-low; London, like Thebes, may be a wilderness,
And Thames, like Nile, through silent ruins flow.
Then haply may my travels be renewed :
Some Transatlantic hand may break my rest, And bear me from Augusta's solitude,
To some new seat of empire in the west.
Mortal! since human grandeur ends in dust,
And proudest piles must crumble to decay; Build
up the tower of thy final trust In those blest realms—where nought shall pass away! London Magazine.
SERENADE FROM THE SPANISH.
BY J. G. LOCKHART, ESQ.
While my lady sleepeth,
The dark blue heaven is bright,
Round her bower all night.
While my lady slumbers,
Echoes of my numbers,
Should ye breathing numbers
That for her I weave,
break her slumbers,
soul would grieve.
And gain her lattice' height,
But be your echoes light
All the stars are glowing
In the gorgeous sky,
Mimic lustres lie:-
But bring no cloud to hide
Nor chase from Zara's side