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More melting than e'er gleam'd from human face,
As when a sunbeam, through a summer shower,
Shines mildly on a little hill-side flock;
And with that look of love he said, Behold
My mother and my brethren; for I say,
That whosoe'er shall do the will of God,
He is my brother, sister, mother, all.

BARTIMEUS RESTORED TO SIGHT.
BLIND, poor, and helpless Bartimeus sat,
Listening the foot of the wayfaring man,
Still hoping that the next, and still the next,
Would put an alms into his trembling hand.
He thinks he hears the coming breeze faint rustle
Among the sycamores; it is the tread
Of thousand steps; it is the hum of tongues
Innumerable: But when the sightless man
Heard that the Nazarene was passing by

He cried, and said," JESUS, thou Son of David,
Have mercy upon me!" and, when rebuked,
He cried the more, "Have mercy upon me!"-
Thy faith has made thee whole, so JESUS spake,
And straight the blind BEHELD THE FACE OF GOD.

LITTLE CHILDREN BROUGHT TO JESUS.
SUFFER that little children come to me,
Forbid them not. Imbolden'd by his words,
The mothers onward press; but finding vain
Th' attempt to reach the Lord, they trust their

babes

To strangers' hands; The innocents, alarm'd
Amid the throng of faces all unknown,

And quits his hold; the voyagers, appall❜d,
Shrink from the fancied Spirit of the Flood:
But when the voice of Jesus with the storm
Soft mingled, It is 1, be not afraid;
Fear fled, and joy lighten'd from eye to eye.
Up he ascends, and, from the rolling side,
Surveys the tumult of the sea and sky
With transient look severe: the tempest, awed,
Sinks to a sudden calm; the clouds disperse ;
The moonbeam trembles on the face divine,
Reflected mildly in th' unruffled deep.

THE DUMB CURED.

His eyes uplifted, and his hands close clasp'd,
The dumb man, with a supplicating look,
Turn'd as the Lord pass'd by: Jesus beheld,
And on him bent a pitying look, and spake :
His moving lips are by the suppliant seen,
And the last accents of the healing sentence
Ring in that ear which never heard before.
Prostrate the man restored falls to the earth,
And uses first the gift, the gift sublime
Of speech, in giving thanks to him, whose voice
Was never utter'd but in doing good.

THE DEATH OF JESUS.

'Tis finished: he spake the words, and bow'd
His head, and died.-Beholding him far off,
They who had minister'd unto him hope.
'Tis his last agony: The temple's vail
Is rent; revealing the most holy place,
Wherein the cherubim their wings extend,

Shrink, trembling,-till their wandering eyes dis- O'ershadowing the mercy-seat of God.

cern

1

The countenance of JESUS, beaming love
And pity; eager then they stretch their arms,
And, cowering, lay their heads upon his breast.

JESUS CALMS THE TEMPEST.
THE roaring tumult of the billow'd sea
Awakes him not: high on the crested surge
Now heaved, his locks flow streaming in the blast,
And now, descending 'tween the sheltering waves,
The falling tresses veil the face divine;
Meek through that veil, a momentary gleam
Benignant shines; he dreams that he beholds
The opening eyes, that long hopeless had roll'd
In darkness,-look around bedimm'd with tears
Of joy; but suddenly the voice of fear
Dispell'd the happy vision: Awful he rose,
Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea,
Peace, be thou still! and straight there was a calm.
With terror-mingled gladness in their looks,
The mariners exclaim,-What man is this,
That e'en the wind and sea obey his voice!

Appall'd the leaning soldier feels the spear
Shake in his grasp; the planted standard falls
Upon the heaving ground; the sun is dimm'd,
And darkness shrouds the body of the Lord.

THE RESURRECTION.

THE setting orb of night her level ray
Shed o'er the land, and on the dewy sward
The lengthen'd shadows of the triple cross
Were laid far-stretch'd,-when in the east arose,
Last of the stars, day's harbinger: No sound
Was heard, save of the watching soldier's foot:
Within the rock-barr'd sepulchre, the gloom
Of deepest midnight brooded o'er the dead,
The Holy One: but, lo! a radiance faint
Began to dawn around his sacred brow:
The linen vesture seem'd a snowy wreath,
Drifted by storms into a mountain cave:

Bright and more bright, the circling halo beam'd
Upon that face, clothed in a smile benign,
Though yet exanimate. Nor long the reign
Of death; the eyes that wept for human griefs
Unclose, and look around with conscious joy.

JESUS WALKS ON THE SEA, AND CALMS THE Yes; with returning life, the first emotion

STORM.

Loud blew the storm of night; the thwarting surge
Dash'd, boiling, on the labouring bark: dismay,
From face to face reflected, spread around :-
When, lo! upon a towering wave is seen
The semblance of a foamy wreath, upright,
Move onward to the ship: The helmsman starts,

That glow'd in JESUS' breast of love was joy
At man's redemption, now complete; at death
Disarm'd; the grave transform'd into the couch
Of faith; the resurrection and the life.
Majestical he rose: trembled the earth;
The ponderous gate of stone was roll'd away;
The keepers fell; the angel, awe-struck, sunk

Into invisibility, while forth

The Saviour of the world walk'd, and stood Before the sepulchre, and view'd the clouds Impurpled glorious by the rising sun.

Of justice, temperance, and the life to come,
The judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's voice.

JESUS APPEARS TO THE DISCIPLES. THE evening of that day, which saw the Lord Rise from the chambers of the dead, was come. His faithful followers, assembled, sang

A hymn, low-breathed; a hymn of sorrow, blent
With hope; when, in the midst, sudden he stood;
The awe-struck circle backward shrink; he looks
Around with a benignant smile of love,

And says, Peace be unto you: Faith and joy
Spread o'er each face, amazed; as when the moon,
Pavilion'd in dark clouds, mildly comes forth,
Silvering a circlet in the fleecy ranks.

PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF
THE AREOPAGUS.

LISTEN that voice! upon the hill of Mars,
Rolling in bolder thunders than e'er peal'd
From lips that shook the Macedonian throne;
Behold his dauntless outstretch'd arm, his face
Illumed of heaven:-he knoweth not the fear
Of man, of principalities, of powers.

The stoic's moveless frown; the vacant stare
Of Epicurus' herd; the scowl and gnash malign
Of superstition, stopping both her ears;
The Areopagite tribunal dread,

From whence the doom of Socrates was utter'd;-
This hostile throng dismays him not: he seems
As if no worldly object could inspire
A terror in his soul; as if the vision,
Which, when he journey'd to Damascus, shone
From heaven, still swam before his eyes,
Outdazzling all things earthly; as if the voice,
That spake from out th' effulgence, ever rang
Within his ear, inspiring him with words,
Burning, majestic, lofty, as his theme,-
The resurrection, and the life to come.

PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE ROMAN
GOVERNOR OF JUDEA.

THE judge ascended to the judgment-seat;
Amid a gleam of spears th' apostle stood.
Dauntless he forward came, and look'd around,
And raised his voice, at first in accents low,
Yet clear; a whisper spread among the throng:-
So when the thunder mutters, still the breeze
Is heard, at times, to sigh; but when the peal
Tremendous, louder rolls, a silence dead
Succeeds each pause,-moveless the aspen leaf.
Thus fix'd and motionless, the listening band
Of soldiers forward lean'd, as from the man
Inspired of God, truth's awful thunders roll'd.
No more he feels, upon his high-raised arm,
The ponderous chain, than does the playful child
The bracelet, form'd of many a flowery link.
Heedless of self, forgetful that his life
Is now to be defended by his words,
He only thinks of doing good to them
Who seek his life; and while he reasons high

PARAPHRASE.

Who healeth all thy diseases: who redeemeth thy life
from destruction: who crowneth thee with loving-kind
ness and tender mercies.-PSALM ciii. 3, 4.
THESE eyes, that were half-closed in death,
Now dare the noontide blaze;

My voice, that scarce could speak my wants,
Now hymns Jehovah's praise.

How pleasant to my feet unused,

To tread the daisied ground!
How sweet to my unwonted ear

The streamlet's lulling sound.
How soft the first breath of the breeze
That on my temples play'd!
How sweet the woodland evening song,
Full floating down the glade!
But sweeter far the lark that soars
Through morning's blushing ray;
For then unseen, unheard, I join

His lonely heavenward lay.

And sweeter still that infant voice,
With all its artless charms ;-
'Twas such as he that Jesus took,
And cherish'd in his arms.

O Lord my God! all these delights
I to thy mercy owe;

For thou hast raised me from the couch

Of sickness, pain, and wo.

'Twas thou that from the whelming wave
My sinking soul redeem'd;
'Twas thou that o'er destruction's storm
A calming radiance beam'd.

ON VISITING MELROSE,

AFTER AN ABSENCE OF SIXTEEN YEARS.

YON setting sun, that slowly disappears,
Gleams a memento of departed years:
Ay, many a year is gone, and many a friend,
Since here I saw the autumn sun descend.
Ah! one is gone, whose hand was lock'd in mine,
In this, that traces now the sorrowing line:
And now alone I scan the mouldering tombs,
Alone I wander through the vaulted glooms,
And list, as if the echoes might retain
One lingering cadence of her varied strain.
Alas! I heard that melting voice decay,
Heard seraph tones in whispers die away;
I mark'd the tear presageful fill her eye,
And quivering speak,-I am resign'd to die.
Ye stars that through the fretted windows shee
A glimmering beam athwart the mighty dead,
Say to what sphere her sainted spirit flew,
That thither I may turn my longing view,
And wish, and hope, some tedious seasons o'er,
To join a long lost friend, to part no more

THE WILD DUCK AND HER BROOD.

How calm that little lake! no breath of wind
Sighs through the reeds; a clear abyss it seems,
Held in the concave of th' inverted sky,-
In which is seen the rook's dull flagging wing
Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails
Yon little fleet, the wild duck and her brood!
Fearless of harm, they row their easy way;
The water-lily neath the plumy prows,
Dips, reappearing in their dimpled track.
Yet, e'en amid that scene of peace, the noise
Of war, unequal, dastard war, intrudes.
Yon revel rout of men, and boys, and dogs,
Boisterous approach; the spaniel dashes in;
Quick he descries the prey; and faster swims,
And eager barks; the harmless flock dismay'd,
Hasten to gain the thickest grove of reeds.
All but the parent pair; they, floating, wait
To lure the foe, and lead him from their young;
But soon themselves are forced to seek the shore.
Vain then the buoyant wing; the leaden storm
Arrests their flight; they, fluttering, bleeding, fall,
And tinge the troubled bosom of the lake.

EPITAPH ON A BLACKBIRD KILLED BY A
HAWK.

WINTER was o'er, and spring-flowers deck'd the
glade;

The blackbird's note among the wild woods rung:
Ah, short-lived note! the songster now is laid
Beneath the bush on which so sweet he sung.
Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent,
Are now all soil'd among the mouldering clay;
A primrosed turf is all thy monument,
And for thy dirge the redbreast lends his lay.

THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.
YON motley, sable-suited throng, that wait
Around the poor man's door, announce a tale
Of wo; the husband, parent, is no more.
Contending with disease, he labour'd long,
By penury compell'd; yielding at last,
He laid him down to die; but, lingering on
From day to day, he from his sick-bed saw,
Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want
Veil'd in a clouded smile; alas! he heard
The elder lispingly attempt to still

The younger's plaint,-languid he raised his head,

TO A REDBREAST, THAT FLEW IN AT MY And thought he yet could toil, but sunk

WINDOW.

FROM Snowy plains, and icy sprays,
From moonless nights, and sunless days,
Welcome, poor bird! I'll cherish thee;
I love thee, for thou trustest me.
Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest!
Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast:-
How quick thy little heart is beating!
As if its brother flutterer greeting.
Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom;
No: freely flutter round my room;
Perch on my lute's remaining string,
And sweetly of sweet summer sing.
That note, that summer note, I know;
It wakes at once, and soothes my wo;
I see those woods, I see that stream,
I see, ah, still prolong the dream!
Still with thy song those scenes renew,
Though through my tears they reach my view.
No more now, at my lonely meal,
While thou art by, alone I'll feel;
For soon, devoid of all distrust,
Thou'lt nibbling share my humble crust;
Or on my finger, pert and spruce,
Thou'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice;
And when (our short collation o'er)
Some favourite volume I explore,
Be't work of poet or of sage,

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Into the arms of death, the poor man's friend!

The coffin is borne out; the humble pomp
Moves slowly on; the orphan mourner's hand
(Poor helpless child!) just reaches to the pall.
And now they pass into the field of graves,
And now around the narrow house they stand,
And view the plain black board sink from the sight.
Hollow the mansion of the dead resounds,
As falls each spadeful of the bone-mix'd mould.
The turf is spread; uncover'd is each head,-
A last farewell: all turn their several ways.
Wo's me! those tear-dimm'd eyes, that sobbing

breast!

Poor child! thou thinkest of the kindly hand
That wont to lead thee home: No more that hand
Shall aid thy feeble gait, or gentle stroke
Thy sun-bleach'd head and downy cheek.
But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps;
In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page,-
Her thoughts are in the grave; 'tis thou alone,
Her first-born child, canst rouse that statue gaze
Of wo profound. Haste to the widow'd arms;
Look with thy father's look, speak with his voice,
And melt a heart that else will break with grief.

THE THANKSGIVING OFF CAPE TRA

FALGAR.

UPON the high, yet gently rolling wave,
The floating tomb that heaves above the brave,
Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roar'd,
Whelming the wretched remnants of the sword.
And now the cannon's peaceful thunder calls
The victor bands to mount their wooden walls,
And from the ramparts, while their comrades fell,
The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell:

Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread,
And crowd the engines, whence the lightnings sped:
The white-robed priest his upraised hands extends:
Hush'd is each voice, attention leaning bends;
Then from each prow the grand hosannas rise,
Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies.
Heaven fills each heart; yet home will oft intrude,
And tears of love celestial joys exclude.
The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain,
Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain;
While parting spirits, mingling with the lay,
On hallelujahs wing their heavenward way.

TO MY SON.

TWICE has the sun commenced his annual round,
Since first thy footsteps totter'd o'er the ground,
Since first thy tongue was tuned to bless mine ear,
By faltering out the name to fathers dear.
O! nature's language, with her looks combined,
More precious far than periods thrice refined!
O! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile,
I prize you more than beauty's magic smile:
Yes, in that face, unconscious of its charm
I gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm.

Ah, no! full oft a boding horror flies
Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries.
Almighty Power! his harmless life defend,
And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send.
And yet a wish will rise,-would I might live,
Till added years his memory firmness give '
For, O! it would a joy in death impart,
To think I still survived within his heart;
To think he'll cast, midway the vale of years,
A retrospective look, bedimm'd with tears;
And tell, regretful, how I look'd and spoke;
What walks I loved; where grew my favourite oak;
How gently I would lead him by the hand;
How gently use the accent of command;
What lore I taught him, roaming wood and wild,
And how the man descended to the child;
How well I loved with him, on Sabbath morn,
To hear the anthem of the vocal thorn;
To teach religion, unallied to strife,
And trace to him the way, the truth, the life.
But far and farther still my view I bend,-
And now I see a child thy steps attend;-
To yonder churchyard wall thou takest thy way,
While round thee, pleased, thou seest the infant play;
Then lifting him, while tears suffuse thine eyes,
Pointing, thou tell'st him, There thy grandsire lies.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

passions. Her plays, however, have not the transcendent dramatic merit which has been claimed for them by some of her admirers. She is by no means a Shakspeare. One of her most recent publications is, A View of the general Tenor of the New Testament, regarding the Nature and Dignity of

JOANNA BAILLIE, sister of the celebrated Dr. Matthew Baillie, was born at Bothwell, in Scotland, about the year 1765. We have been unable to collect any particulars of her life, but she is well known to the public as one of the most successful female writers of the present age. Her most celebrated production is her Plays of the Passions; | Jesus Christ. She is also the author of The Family a series in which each passion is made the subject of a tragedy and a comedy. These procured her great reputation, particularly her tragedies, which evince strong conceptions of character, vivid imagery, and a masterly delineation of the various

Legend, a tragedy; Metrical Legends, or Exalted
Characters; two dramas, entitled, respectively,-
The Martyr, and The Bride; and a volume of
dramas, very recently published.

BASIL.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

COUNT BASIL,

COUNT ROSINBERG,

DUKE OF MANTUA.

GAURICEIO,

VALTOMER,
FREDERICK,

GEOFFRY,
MIRANDO,

MEN.

Old Man. Bears she such offerings to St. Francis'
shrine,

So rich, so marvellous rich, as rumour says?
-Twill drain the treasury!

Cit. Since she, in all this splendid pomp, returns

a general in the emperor's service. Her public thanks to the good patron saint,

his friend.

his minister.

Two officers of Basil's troops.
an old soldier very much maimed

in the wars.

a little boy, favourite to Victoria.

WOMEN.

VICTORIA,
daughter to the Duke of Mantua.
COUNTESS OF ALBINI, friend and governess to Victoria.
ISABELLA,
a lady attending upon Victoria.
Officers, soldiers, and attendants, masks, dancers, &c.
*** The scene is in Mantua and its environs. Time
supposed to be the sixteenth century, when Charles the
Fifth defeated Francis the First, at the battle of Pavia.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—AN OPEN STREET, CROWDED WITH PEOPLE
WHO SEEM TO BE WAITING IN EXPECTATION OF

SOME SHOW.

Enter a CITIZEN.

Who from his sick-bed hath restored her father,
Thou wouldst not have her go with empty hands?
She loves magnificence-

(Discovering among the crowd old Geoffry,)
Ha! art thou here, old remnant of the wars?
Thou art not come to see this courtly show,
Which sets the young agape?

Geof. I come not for the show; and yet, methinks,
It were a better jest upon me still,

If thou didst truly know mine errand here.
Cit. I prithee say.
Geof.

What, must I tell it thee?
As o'er my evening fire I musing sat,
Some few days since, my mind's eye backward turn'd
Upon the various changes I have pass'd-
How in my youth, with gay attire allured,
And all the grand accoutrements of war,

I left my peaceful home: Then my first battles,
When clashing arms and sights of blood were new:
Then all the after chances of the war:
Ay, and that field, a well-fought field it was,

First Man. Well, friend, what tidings of the When with an arm (I speak not of it oft)

grand procession?

Cit. I left it passing by the northern gate.

Second Man. I've waited long, I'm glad it comes

at last.

Which now (pointing to his empty sleeve) thou
seest is no arm of mine,

In a straight pass I stopp'd a thousand foes,
And turn'd my flying comrades to the charge;

Young Man. And does the princess look so won- For which good service, in his tented court,

drous fair

As fame reports?

Cit. She is the fairest lady of the train,Yet all the fairest beauties of the court

Are in her train.

39

My prince bestow'd a mark of favour on me;
Whilst his fair consort, seated by his side,
The fairest lady e'er mine eyes beheld,
Gave me what more than all besides I prized-
Methinks I see her still-a gracious smile-
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