A FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. BY JOSEPH RITCHIE, ESQ. THY chalky cliffs are fading from my view, I sigh while yet I may, and say adieu, I never dreamt of beauty, but, behold, And when I thought on wisdom and the crown I turned to those whom thou hast called thine own, Who fill the spacious earth with their and thy renown. When my young heart, in life's gay morning hour, Her voice came to me from an English bower, And English were the smiles that wrought the charm; And if, when wrapt asleep on Fancy's arm, Visions of bliss my riper years have cheered, Of home, and love's fireside, and greetings warm, For one by absence and long toil endeared, The fabric of my hopes on thee hath still been reared. Peace to thy smiling hearths, when I am gone; Like a tall watch-tower flashing o'er the deep ; Still mayest thou bid the sorrowers cease to weep, And earth be blest beneath the buckler of thy might. Strong in thy strength I go, and wheresoe'er My steps may wander, may I ne'er forget All that I owe to thee; and O may ne'er My frailties tempt me to abjure that debt! And what, if far from thee my star must set, Hast thou not hearts that shall with sadness hear The tale, and some fair cheeks that shall be wet, And some bright eyes, in which the swelling tear Shall start for him who sleeps in Afric's desarts drear. Yet I will not profane a charge like mine, I trust its promise, that I go to weave A wreath of palms, entwined with many a sweet Perennial flower, which time shall not bereave Of all its fragrance, that I yet shall greet Once more the ocean queen, and throw it at her feet. London Magazine. THE EXCHANGE. BY S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. WE pledged our hearts, my love and I,— Her father's love she bade me gain; We had exchanged our hearts indeed. ON PAINTING. BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ. O, thou! by whose expressive art Possessing more than mortal power! From Love, the lord of Nature, sprung! But hush, thou pulse of pleasure dear; Slow, throbbing, cold, I feel thee part; Lone absence plants a pang severe, Or death inflicts a keener dart; Then for a beam of joy, to light In Memory's sad and wakeful eye; To banish from the noon of night Her dreams of deeper agony. Shall song its witching cadence roll; The lost, the loved, the dead are near; But thou serenely silent art, By heaven and love both taught to lend A milder solace to the heart The sacred image of a friend; All is not lost if yet possest For me that sweet memorial shine, If close and closer to my breast I hold the image all divine. Or gazing through luxuriant tears, Yes, Genius, yes! thy mimic aid Smiles through the sainted hues of heaven. No spectre form of pleasure fled, Thy softening, sweetening tints restore; For thou canst give us back the dead, Then blest be Nature's guardian muse, Whose hand her polished grace redeems; Whose tablet of a thousand hues The mirror of creation seems; From Love began thy high descent; And lovers charmed with gifts of thine, NIGHT. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ. NIGHT is the time for rest; How sweet when labours close, To gather round an aching breast Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed! Night is the time for dreams; The gay romance of life, When truth that is and truth that seems Blend in fantastic strife; Ah! visions less beguiling far Than waking dreams by daylight are! Night is the time for toil; To plough the classic field, Its wealthy furrows yield; Night is the time to weep; To wet with unseen tears Those graves of memory, where sleep Hopes that were Angels in their birth, Night is the time to watch; On ocean's dark expanse; To hail the Peliades, or catch The full moon's earliest glance, That brings into the home-sick mind All we have loved and left behind. |