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XXVII. ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. WHEN the last sunshine of expiring day In summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ? 'Tis not harsh sorrow - but a tenderer woe, Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below; Felt without bitterness - but full and clear; A sweet dejection - a transparent tear, Unmixed with worldly grief or selfish stain, Shed without shame, and secret without pain. Even as the tenderness that hour instills When summer's day declines along the hills, So feels the fullness of our heart and eyes When all of Genius which can perish dies ! Almighty spirit is eclipsed — a power Hath passed from day to darkness - - to whose hour Of light no likeness is bequeathed — no name, Focus at once of all the rays of Fame ! The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence, The beam of Song, the blaze of Eloquence, Set with their sun - but still have left behind The enduring produce of immortal Mind; Fruits of a genial morn and glorious noon, A deathless part of him who died too soon. Ye orators ! whom yet our councils yield, Mourn for the veteran hero of your field ! The worthy rival of the wondrous Three,* Whose words were sparks of immortality! Ye bards ! to whom the drama's muse is dear, He was your master- emulate him here! Ye men of wit and social eloquence ! He was your brother bear his ashes hence ! While powers of mind almost of boundless range, Complete in kind, as various in their change, While Eloquence, Wit, Poesy, and Mirth, That humbler harmonist of care on earth, Survive within our souls, while lives our sense Of pride in Merit's proud preëminence,
* Pitt, Fox, and Burke.
Long shall we seek his likeness — long in vain,
XXVIII. — FAITH.
God in Nature ye can trust :
Is the God of Mind less just ?
Now the harvest we behold;
See ! it bears a thousand fold.
Now the faithful sower grieves ;
Soon he 'll bind his golden sheaves.
The fairest fruit may yet be born
XXIX. - HELVELLYN. In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable
disposition, perished by losing his way on mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful dog, his constant attendant during frequent
solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ; All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling,
And, starting around me, the echoes replied.
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather,
Where the pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay,
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay.
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
Unhonored the pilgrim from life should depart?
The tăpestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall; With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming; In the
proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming; Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,
Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
XXX. - THE STATUE OF THE BELVIDERE APOLLO.
ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
The heavenly archer stands * no human birth,
Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight,
Mighty Ephesian! † with an eagle's flight
XXXI. - ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Stops with the shore;- upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow with which he slow the Berpent Python. † Agasjas of Ephesus.
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark heaving; - boundless, endless, and sublime The image of eternity — the throne
Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
I wantoned with thy breakers; —they to me
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror, 't was a pleasing fear;
For I was, as it were, a child of thee; And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane
as I do here. BYRON.
XXXII. - THE STORY OF GINEVRA.
SHE was an only child, her name Ginevra,