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P O E T R Y.
THE BANKS OF THE DOVE.
By MICHAEL THOMAS SADLER, Esq. M.P.
(Written on leaving my nutive Village in early youth.)
Adieu to the banks of the Dove!
My happiest moments are flown ;
For scenes far remote and unknown :
fortunes may prove,
And sigh for the banks of the Dove.
Ye friends of my earliest youth,
From you how reluctant I part !
And shall ne'er be erased from my heart :
But where shall I meet with such love?
As I have on the banks of the Dove?
Thou sweet little village farewell !
Every object around thee is dear;
Where I wandered for many a year :
These seats of contentment and love,
I leave ;-—and the banks of the Dove !
The hours of my childhood are past,
They seem even now as a dream;
As the waves of this beautiful stream;
Nor shall from my bosom remove ;
Reflected the banks of the Dove.
But I go! for the Dove's crystal wave
Now murmurs commix'd with my tears;
hallow'd turret appears :
And lay me beside her I love;
I'll sleep on the banks of the Dove.
Till then in the visions of night,
O may her lov'd spirit descend;
She still is my guardian and friend!
My footsteps when tempted to rove,
For her, and the banks of the Dove !
By JOHN CLARE, the Northamptonshire Peasant.
Majestic pile! thy rich and splendid tower
O'erlooks the ocean with aspiring pride, Daring the insults rude of wind and shower,
And greeting them with presence dignified.
Though thou hast seen Pride's mightiest thrust aside,
As dark oblivion's harvest of the storm ;Yet waves may lash, and the loud hurricane
Threaten thy cloud-capt dwelling, and deform The sky in glooms around thee :--all is vain ;
Empires may pass away, but thou'lt remain.
Smiling in sunshine as the storm frowns by,
Whose dreadful rage seem'd to thy quiet thrall As small birds' twitterings that beneath thee fly:
Winds call aloud, and they may louder call; For deaf to danger's voice, sublime and grand
Thou towerest in thy old majesty o'er all. Tempests, that break the tall mast like a wand,
Howl their rage weary round thee, and no more mpression make, than summer winds that bow
The little trembling weeds upon thy wall. Lightnings have play'd around thy brow of yore,
And left no footmarks :- :-so it seemeth now, Time proudly spares thee till that doom is hurl'd
That sears the ocean dry and wrecks the world.
THE SONG OF THE NIGHT.
By Mrs. HenANS.
I come to thee, O Earth!
The glory of its birth.
Not one which glimmering lies
A spirit of fresh dyes.
I come with every star: Making thy streams, that on their noon-day track Gave but the moss, the reed, the lily back,
Mirrors of worlds afar.
I come with peace : I shed Sleep through thy wood-walks o'er the honey-bee, The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young glee,
The hyacinth's meek head.
On my own heart I lay
The shadowing lids to play.
I come with mightier things !
Borne on my sweeping wings.
I waft them not alone
Till the bright day is done.
But in the human breast
The mantle of its rest.
I bring them from the past : From true hearts broken; gentle spirits torn, From crush'd affections, which though long o'erborne,
Make their tone heard at last.
I bring them from the tomb :
Like trumpets through the gloom.
I come with all my train ;
Phantoms of heart and brain.
Looks from departed eyes,
They smite with agonies.
I that with soft control
The searcher of the soul !
I that shower dewy light Through slumbering leaves, bring storms--the tempest birth Of Memory, Thought, Remorse:—be holy Earth
-I am the solemn Night.
IN D E X.
(N.B. The figures with crotchets refer to the History.)
A BERDEEN, earl of, his correspondence ing Geo. Green, his fellow-appren-
with the marquis of Barbucena, rela- tice, 136; T. Churchyard, man-
murder Mr. Low, &c. 359
Head, 67; fall of a room at the Quaintance, poisoning Samuel Wes-
Fulton, American steam frigate, Leeds : Hannah Atherton, child-steal-
Norwich : John Stratford, poisoning
Old Bailey : Clements, &c. piracy, 68;
Jacobs, arson, _74; A. Finlayson,
E. M. Van Butchell, manslaughter,
French expedition against,  O.xford : S. Berry, stealing a pig, 44
Tyrone: T. Read, &c. murder of J.
Winchester : J. Stacey, murder, 320
sion at Herculaneum, 21; amphi. loss of a travelling bag, 65; J. Mar-
not admitted as evidence on trial, 15
Bankes, Mr. G., speech against the Ca-
tholic Relief Bill, 
der Mary Mortlock, 13
the house of the Rev. T. Jones, 46 afterwards restored, by a servant,