The columns of stone, that encircled the cave,
Were fraught with philosophy's lore;
In letters of gold did a sage there engrave
The words of the wise, and the deeds of the brave,
The feats and the virtues of yore,

The prince with a lute the slow moments beguil'd,
Or the target was pierc'd by his lance;
With silent observance the governor smil'd
At the restless aspirings that wrought in the child,
And that flash'd in the roll of his glance.

Hark! timbrels re-echo and dulcimers ring;
Songs of triumph float distant in air:
The Paladins enter; the queen and the king:
Their smiles, their embraces, their blessings they
bring,

The prince to his people they bear.

-The sun shines in gold; the broad heavens are blue; The waves green as emerald roll;

The city's bright pinnacles dazzle his view,

The crowds thronging thick as the stars or the dew,
Oppress and bewilder his soul.

O'er the vast, floating multitude wanders his gaze,
O'er the banners, the shields, and the spears:
Recover'd at length from his dazzled amaze,
The gifts which his parents have brought he surveys,
And perplex'd in his rapture appears.

There vestments of silver, and vestments of gold,
Are gorgeously pil'd on the plain:

In heaps, pearls and rubies and sapphires are roll'd,
And pictures, and statues of exquisite mould,
His choice with their beauties detain.

There stood gilded chariots, and coursers snow-white,
With trappings of crimson array'd:

There mail rich-emblaz'd glitter'd keen on his sight, And helms in the pomp and resplendence of light,

Crested dark with the plume's nodding shade.

Here linger'd the youth; but he lifted his eyes
On the throng that assembled around:
When sudden he starts with a glance of surprize,
His blood circles fast, and his breath panting flies,
And the hollow helm clanks on the ground.

He whispers confus'd in the governor's ear,

"What creatures, I pray thee, are those? "More soft e'en than boys their mild features appear, They touch me with joy, yet they thrill me with "fear,

"And my blood with strange ardency glows."

His age-silver'd head then Ydronicus shook,

The youth's hand he earnestly press'd;

"Oh! fatal they are; shun that soul-thrilling look, "Which already thy gaze with its venom hath strook, "Lest the poison sink deep in thy breast.

"They with jewels are deck'd, and in scarlet are drest, "And their ringlets are wreath'd like the vine: Their shape is the fir-tree's; the swan's is their breast; "Full many a wretch have their eyes robb'd of rest, "Oh let not that folly be thine!

"But, listen, my prince! I will tell thee their name, "And thy pulse will beat fearfully then;

"Thyself shalt my wisdom and caution proclaim;
"Oh! shun as the plague, as the sword, as the flame,
"The Devils, the snarers of men!"

Adonias was mute-but his eyes linger'd yet
On the damsels that smiling stood by:
Their enamouring glances with his frequent met;
His feet seem'd entangled as 'twere with a net,
And his heart struggled soft with a sigh,

My father! my father! the gems and the gold
"Some other unenvied may bear:

"But thus let the choice of my fancy be told;
"Oh! give me the Devils whom there I behold,
"Those Devils who men can ensnare!"

THE midnight clock has toll'd; and hark, the bell Of death beats slow! hear ye the note profound? It pauses now; and now with rising knell,

Flings to the hollow gale its sullen sound. Yes COVENTRY is dead. Attend the strain, Daughters of Albion! ye that, light as air, So oft have tript in her fantastic train,

With hearts as gay, and faces half as fair; For she was fair beyond your brightest bloom: This envy owns since now her bloom is fled, Fair as the forms that, wove in fancy's loom, Float in light vision round the poet's head.

Whene'er with soft serenity she smil'd,
Or caught the orient blush of quick surprise,
How sweetly mutable, how brightly wild,
The liquid lustre darted from her eyes?

Each look, each motion wak'd a new-born grace,
That o'er her form its transient glory cast:
Some lovelier wonder soon usurp'd the place,
Chas'd by a charm still lovelier than the last.

That bell again! it tells us what she is;

On what she was no more the strain prolong: Luxuriant fancy pause: an hour like this Demands the tribute of a serious song.

Maria claims it from that sable bier,

Where cold and wau the slumberer rests her head; In still small whispers to reflection's ear,

She breathes the solemn dictates of the dead.

O catch the awful notes, and lift them loud;
Proclaim the theme, by sage, by fool rever'd;
Hear it ye young, ye vain, ye great, ye proud,
'Tis nature speaks, and nature will be heard.

Yes, ye shall hear, and tremble as ye hear,
While, high with health, your hearts exulting leap:
E'en in the midst of pleasure's mad career,
The mental monitor shall wake and weep.

For say, than COVENTRY's propitious star,
What brighter planet on your birth arose;
Or gave of fortune's gifts an ampler share,
In life to lavish, or by death to lose!

Early to lose; while, borne on busy wing,

Ye sip the nectar of each varying bloom;
Nor fear, while basking in the beams of spring,
The wintry storm that sweeps you to the tomb.

Think of her fate! revere the heav'nly hand
That led her hence, though soon, by steps so slow;
Long at her couch death took his patient stand,

And menac'd oft, and oft withheld the blow:

To give reflection time, with lenient art,

Each fond delusion from her soul to steal; Teach her from folly peaceably to part,

And wean her from a world she lov'd so well.

Say, are ye sure his mercy shall extend

To you so long a span? Alas, ye sigh;
Make then, while yet ye may, your God your friend,
And learn with equal ease to sleep or die!

Nor think the muse, whose sober voice ye hear,
Contracts with bigot frown her sullen brow;
Casts round religion's orb the mists of fear,
Or shades with horrors,what with smiles should glow.
No; she would warm you with seraphic fire,
Heirs, as ye are, of heav'n's eternal day ;
Would bid you boldly to that heav'n aspire,
Not sink and slumber in your cells of clay.

Know, ye were form'd to range yon azure field,
In yon ethereal founts of bliss to lave;
Force then, secure in faith's protecting shield,
The sting from death, the vict'ry from the grave.

Is this the bigot's rant? Away, ye vain,

Your hopes, your fears, in doubt, in dulness steep: Go sooth your souls in sickness, grief or pain, With the sad solace of eternal sleep.

Yet will I praise you, triflers as ye are,

More than those preachers of your fav'rite creed,
Who proudly swell the brazen throat of war,
Who form the phalanx, bid the battle bleed.

Nor wish for more: who conquer, but to die.
Hear, folly, hear; and triumph in the tale:
Like you, they reason; not, like you, enjoy
The breeze of bliss, that fills your silken sail;

On pleasure's glitt'ring stream ye gaily steer
Your little course to cold oblivion's shore;

They dare the storm, and, through th' inclement year,
Stem the rough surge, and brave the torrent's roar,