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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,

Over the unreturning brave,-alas !
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass,

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

Of living valor, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold

and low.
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,-
Last eve in beauty's circle, proudly gay, -
The midnight, brought the signal-sound of

strife,
The morn, the marshalling in arms,-the day--
Battle's magnificently-stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when

rent,
The earth is covered thick with other clay,

Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent
Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial

blent !"

ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,

Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,

For Arthur's Maga zine.

6.WOULD I WERE A POET.",

BY

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MISS

MARY

DENVER,

AKE not such wish And make our world a paradise of love,

't is vain as the Yet sad presentiments are ever near us,
ideal,

Haunting our footsteps wheresoe'er they move,
Which the heart That we but toil in vain—that we are burning

worships in its Our last lamp out, ne'er to be lit again,

lonely hour; Over an idle page of worthless learning,
A shadow, melting Which we, alas ! may comprehend in vain.

into nothing real,
When sober thought Tow'rds a far port our bark of life is steering,

again asserts her Worn in the conflict with each petty wave,
power.

Upheld alone by the vain hope of hearing
Make not such wish-thou little know'st the swellings, A voice of praise when anchor'd in-the
Found in the ocean of a poet's life,

grave. Around those pure and delicate indwellings,

Vain compensation for a spirit broken, That gleam like jewell’d caverns through the strife. In a too aimless and uncertain flight,

A worn out life,-the sure and early token The struggling of strong thought,-the waste of feel Of many a weary day and sleepless night.

ing, The burning heart, consuming all its own, Too early loved-well may the spirt falter, And like a stern and wayward spirit, sealing

When ploughing through the cheerless sea of Its own strange destiny, thou hast not known.

doubt, The many waves that cluster’d, spent and wasted, When thus before the sacraficial altar, To be pour'd back into the troubled main;

Morn, noon and night, it pours its life-tides out. The cup of sweet affection only tasted,

Yet not reluctantly, if but relying Ne'er to be pressed between the lips again.

Upon the value of the gift it brings,

Its last hopes are, like the sweet swans when dy-
Too much-too dearly loved, -the heart is pouring ing;
Before that shrine, its ev'ry life-throb out,

To make its sweetest song, the last it sings.
And from the classic page of mind is storing
Its own with things of beauty or of doubt.

Like one high mounted on the funeral pyre,
Bright thoughts that float a moment on life's ocean, - Bound to the body of the senseless dead ;

Perchance the eyes that gaze on them are blind, - While far around him rises flames of fire, Then downward fall with an unconscious motion And words of dark significance are said. Back to the past,—that maelstrom of the mind. So stands the poet in his hour of trial,

With none to help him from the funeral pile; Bright thoughts like glittring phantoms, sometimes Well knowing that entreaty were denial,

He meets death coldly with a bitter smile.

cheer us,

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Fallen pile! I ask not what has been thy fate ;
But when the weak winds, wafted from the main,
Through each lone arch, like spirits that complain,
Come hollow to my ear, I meditate
On this world's passing pageant, and the lot
Of those who once might proudly, in their prime
Have stood with giant port, 'till, bowed by time,
Or injury, their ancient boast forgot
They might have sunk like thee; though thus forlorn,
They lift their heads, with venerable hairs
Besprent, majestic yet, and as in scorn
Of mortal vanities and short lived cares;
E'en so dost thou, lifting thy forehead grey,
Smile at the tempest, and time's sweeping sway.

Apostrophe to Netley Abbey.--BOWLES.

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VERY thing about { consecrated by the remembrance of the time
this venerable ruin— when they stood proudly defying the storm.
the loveliness of the But reality claims our attention to the exclu-
landscape,—the quiet {sion of poetic revery, and we must therefore
seclusion of the spot, - { briefly execute our task.
the mournful desola- Netley Abbey, (or, according to Leland's Col-
tion of years,-frag. lecteana, Lettely Abbey, from the Latin, de Læto
ments of sculpture, - Loco, pleasant place,) has long been celebrated

broken crosses, and as one of the most picturesque ruins in the Old mutilated columns overgrown with envious ivy; World. It was founded about the year 1239 hy the solitude of the artificial lakes, overshadowed Peter Roche, Bishop of Winchester. Its first by deep forests ;-all these influences acting upon charter was granted in the year 1207 by Henry the mind of the traveller, are calculated to arouse III. in which charter the abbey is called Ecclethe imagination, and call up, like phantoms, the sia Sanctæ Mariæ de loco Sancti Edwardi, scenes, the events, and the personages, of former which gave rise to the English name of Edwardsdays. No mind possessed of feeling for the pic- tow. But little is known of the establishment for turesque or poetical, can resist the effect produ- the first three hundred years after its foundation. ced by wandering amid these ruins, which seem The Monks belonged to the severe order of the 17*

203

Cisterians. The wealth of the establishment { at last decided upon paying no attention to his seems not to have been great ; for, at the time of dream; and accordingly began his operations for Pope Nicholas IV. its income was merely nom- pulling down the building; he had not proceeded inal. It is even said that they were destitute of far, when, as he was proceeding in the work, a library, and that, about the commencement of the arch of one of the windows, but not the sixteenth century they were possessed of but the one he had dreamed of, which is the east winone book, which was a copy of Cicero's Treatise dow, still standing, fell upon his head and fracon Rhetoric. In the year 1537 the place was tured his scull. It was thought at first that the transferred to Sir William Paulet, by a grant wound would not prove mortal; but it was aggrafrom the King. It afterwards passed through vated through the unskilfulness of the surgeon, the hands of several of the nobility, some of and the man died. The accident which befell whom made it a place of residence. About the Taylor being popularly attributed to the special end of the century it became the property of the interposition of Heaven, saved the abbey from Earl of Huntingdon, who commenced the desecra- demolition. But the place soon after passed out tion of the old building, by converting the nave of the possession of the Earl of Huntingdon, of the church into a kitchen and offices.

and has since been successively in that of various - There is also a strange story in which he is other families. It was lately the property of implicated,” says the narrator. · The earl, Lady Holland, widow of Sir Nathaniel Holland, about the year 1700, or soon after, made a con Bart." tract with a Mr. Walter Taylor, a builder of But little of Netley Abbey now remains, exSouthampton, for the complete demolition of the cept the bare walls. It stands on a gentle abbey,-it being intended by Taylor, to employ the elevation which rises from Southampton Wamaterials in erecting a town-house, and other build ter. ings, at New Port. After making this agreement, The walk from the village of Southampton, is however, Taylor dreamed, that as he was pulling said to be one of enchanting beauty. The abbey down a particular window, one of the stones itself is embosomed in a clump of oaks and other forming the arch, fell upon him and killed him. trees, some of which springing from the midst of His dream impressed him so forcibly, that he į its - roofless walls” wave their branches over mentioned the circumstance to a friend (who is them. said to have been the father of the well known The buildings seem to have formed, originally, Doctor Isaac Watts), and in some perplexity asked a quadrangular square, which was of considerable his advice. His friend thought it would be his extent, being 200 feet in length, by 60 transept safest course to have nothing to do with the of 120 feet long. affair, respecting which he had been so alarmingly Of these, however, little but their traces reforewarned, and endeavored to persuade himmain. Thus are disappearing the monumen fots to desist from his intention. Taylor however ancient times.

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T was impossible for Anna , do in a strange place ?” She asked herself on Gray to realize, until after the evening before she started, and shuddered at the burial of her mother, the question. But she could only go forward and the true nature of the loss trust that all would come out right in the end. she had sustained. Death, A man who lived near neighbor, and who had when at last it came, be- been well acquainted with her father, went with numbed for a time her feels her to the steamboat when she started, and put ings. The shock was so her under the captain's care, who promised to

severe, that its effect was see her safely in the stage for Philadelphia, imparalizing. But, after the body had been carried mediately on the arrival of the boat at Pittsburg. to the grave, and the few sympathizing neighbors No incident worth noting occurred on the who attended the funeral had departed, Anna felt passage up the river. At Pittsburg, she was a most distressing sense of loneliness and bereave- placed by the captain, according to promise, in ment. This continued for several days. Then, the eastern stage. After her passage was paid, thoughts of what she should do, and where she she had only about three dollars left.

She was should go, began to possess her mind, and raise it the only female passenger among nine persons. above a state of brooding melancholy.

Her heart trembled when she found herself thus The promise she had made to her mother a situated; but for this there was no cause. She short time before her death, filial love and duty was treated with the kindest attentions during required her to perform, although her own feel the whole journey of three days. ings were altogether opposed. She did not wish It was mid-day when they arrived in the city. to know the relatives who had treated her mother Shall I get a carriage for you ?” asked one with cruel neglect; who had, in fact, cast her of her fellow passengers. off; much less seek them out and apply to them Anna started from the deep reverie into which for support and protection. But, her word had she had fallen, and replied, been given to a dying parent, and that word she « No, sir, I thank you,” almost involuntarily. dared not violate.

The man paused a moment, and then left her With a most unconquerable reluctance, she set to look after his own baggage. She was now about making preparations for a journey to Phila- alone in a strange city. delphia. Not a single person, among the few "A carriage, ma'am ?” Any baggage, people with whom she was acquainted, knew any ma'am ?" asked three or four porters and carone in Philadelphia, or could give her any infor- riage drivers, passing up to the bewildered girl, mation as to where she should go, or how she as she descended to the street. She had a trunk, should act on her arrival in that city. The { and she knew that she would have to employ a amount of money that she received from the sale porter to carry it for her; so she engaged one, of a few articles of furniture, was barely suffi- who took charge of her baggage. cient, after paying two months' rent, and buying "Where do you wish it taken, ma'am ?herself some necessary articles of clothing, to This question awoke Anna to a full realization meet the cost of her passage up the river and of her situation. " Where ?" Alas! She was across the mountains.

homeless. And worse, had not so much as a Suppose I cannot find them? What shall I dollar in her purse. The small sum that remained

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his pace.

on leaving Pittsburg, had been nearly all ex side,” she said, and crossed over and went down pended for her meals on the road.

as far as Seventh street. But the search was “ Do you wish your trunk taken to a hotel or vain. On the corner of Seventh and Arch she private house ?"

again paused, looking up and then down the first The porter asked this question with evidences named street. As she thus stood, a young man, of impatience, as he had waited for over a minute dashingly attired, approached with his gaze fixed for an answer to the previous one.

intently upon her. She did not notice him until - To a hotel,” Anna said, faintly.

he was within a few paces, and then, as her eyes " Which one, ma'am ?”

fell on his face and she perceived its expression, « Do you know where a Mr. Grant lives?she shuddered and sprung across the street in a - No ma'am,' returned the porter.

southward direction. The young man quickened « Or a Mr. Markland ?"

She heard his footsteps behind her, ri Does he keep a hotel ?”!

and her heart beat rapidly. She kept in advance “ I do n't know ?"

of him until she had nearly reached Market street. « I never heard the name. But where shall I But he was now close by her side. Her heart take your baggage ?"

fluttered- the cold sweat came out over her Anna's thoughts had been so much in confusion } whole body-her limbs could scarcely sustain ever since her departure from Cincinnati, that her. Every moment she expected to feel the she had not been able to determine what course rude grasp of a man's hand.

If sufficient power to take on her arrival in Philadelphia. She was, had remained, she would have darted forward and therefore, utterly at a loss how to answer the ran on at full speed; but she felt more like sinkporter's question.

ing to the pavement than running. At length .6 Can't my trunk stay here for a little while ?" she found it almost impossible to keep on; her she at length asked.

pace slackened suddenly, and the man who had O yes, ma'am. I can put it in the office for been following her, passed onwards. When a you, and you can get it at any time. My name few paces beyond, he turned partly around, with is Bill. Ask for Bill, when you come for it; or, a half curious, half impertinent stare; but one if I am not here, leave word where it is to go.” glance at Anna's countenance satisfied him that

The trunk was, accordingly, deposited in the he had mistaken her character. In a minute or rail road office, and Anna started to go-she two he was out of sight, and Anna moving on knew not where !

with scarcely power to walk. She had been The sky had been overcast since morning. No dreadfully frightened. rain had yet fallen, but the wind was from the Since morning, nothing had been eaten by the east, and the air damp and cold. It was late in unhappy girl. Want of food, anxiety, and sudNovember.

den alarm caused her to feel very faint. For a Anna went forth from the car office, and took few minutes it seemed that she would sink to the her way down Market street. She had yet set pavement. But she kept on as far as Chestnut tled upon no course of action. She walked along, street up which she turned, and walked nearly as because to stand still, while striving to think, far as Broad street, examining the door plates as would attract the attention she wished, as a timid she had done in Arch street, and to as little purgirl, in a strange city, to avoid. On, on she } pose. went, square after square, until a sight of the As she returned, on the other side of the street, river caused her to pause for a full minute in sad she saw cakes in a confectioner's window. Faint irresolution.

and weary, she entered the shop and asked for a " Where shall I go? What must I do?" she } cup of tea, which was served up with a slice of sighed as she crossed over at Second street, and toast, in a back room. A girl of twelve or thirtook a northerly course, which she pursued as teen brought these to her on a waiter. Anna far as Arch street, up which she directed her looked into her face, and saw that its expression steps. After passing Fifth street, the appear was innocent and kind. ance of the houses made her think that, possibly, " Do you know a family by the name of her aunt might reside in one of them, if still | Grant ?" she asked of this girl. living. With this feeble hope in her mind, she “Grant ?-Grant? No miss, I do n't know examined every door plate, as she moved along, any body by that name." but the name of "Grant" no where met her Anna commenced sipping her tea and the girl

retired. A few mouthfuls were eaten, and then At Thirteenth street she stood still, irresolute, } the young wanderer leaned her head upon her for some time.

hand, with her eyes cast to the floor, and fell Perhaps I may find the house on the other into a deep state of abstraction. From this she

anxious eye.

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