That when the shades of Time serenely fall
On every broken arch and ivied wall;
The tender images we love to trace,
Steal from each year a melancholy grace!
And as the sparks of social love expand,
As the heart opens in a foreign land;

And with a brother's warmth, a brother's smile,
The stranger greets each native of his isle

;

So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
Yet not an image, when remotely view'd,
However trivial, and however rude,

But wins the heart, and wakes the social sigh,
With eyery claim of close affinity!

But these pure joys the world can never know;
In gentler climes their silver currents flow.
Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day,
When the hush'd grove has sung its parting lay;
When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car,
Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star;
Above, below, aërial murmurs swell,

From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell! A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light, Stealing soft music on the ear of night:

So oft the finer movements of the soul,

That shun the sphere of Pleasure's gay controul,

In the still shades of calm Seclusion rise,

And breathe their sweet set seraphic harmonies!

Once, and domestic annals tell the time, (Preserv'd in Cumbria's rude romantic clime) When Nature smil'd, and o'er the landscape threw Her richest fragrance, and her brightest hue, A blithe and blooming Forester explor'd Those nobler scenes SALVATOR's soul ador'd; The rocky pass half-hung with shaggy wood, And the cleft oak flung boldly o'er the flood.

High on exulting wing the heath cock rose, (b) And blew his shrill blast o'er perennial snows; When the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar, Gaz'd on the tumbling tide of dread Lodoar;

And thro' the rifted cliffs, that scal'd the sky, Derwent's clear mirror charm'd his dazzled eye. (c) Each osier isle, inverted on the wave.

Thro' morn's gray mist its melting colours gave; And, o'er the cygnet's haunt, the mantling grove Its emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove.

Light as the breeze that brush'd the orient dew, From rock to rock the young adventurer flew ; And day's last sunshine slept along the shore,

When, lo! a path the smile of welcome wore.

A

Embowering shrubs with verdure veil'd the sky,
And on the musk-rose shed a deeper dye;'
Save when a mild and momentary gleam

Glanc'd from the white foam of some shelter'd stream,

O'er the still lake the bell of evening toll'd,
And on the moor the shepherd penn'd his fold;
And on the green hill's side the meteor play'd,
When, hark! a voice sung sweetly thro' the shade.
It ceas'd-yet still in FLORIO's fancy sung,
Still on each note his captive spirit hung;
"Till o'er the mead a cool, sequestered grot
From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot.
A crystal water cross'd the pebbled floor,
And on the front these simple lines it bore:

Hence away, nor dare intrude!
In this secret shadowy cell

Musing MEMORY loves to dwell,
With her sister Solitude..

Far from the busy world she flies,
To taste that peace the world denies.
Entranc'd she sits; from youth to age,
Reviewing Life's eventful page;
And noting, ere they fade away,

The little lines of yesterday.

D

FLORIO had gain'd a rude and rocky seat,
When lo, the Genius of this still retreat !

Fair was her form-but who can hope to trace
The pensive softness of her angel face?

Can VIRGIL's verse, can RAPHAEL's touch impart
Those finer features of the feeling heart,
Those tend'rer tints that shun the careless eye,
And in the world's contagious climate die?

She left the cave, nor mark'd the stranger there
Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air,
Had breath'd a soft enchantment o'er his soul!
In every nerve he felt her blest controul!
What pure and white-wing'd agents of the sky,
Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy,
Inform congenial spirits when they meet?
Sweet is their office, as their nature sweet!

FLORIO, with fearful joy pursued the maid,
Till thro' a vista's moonlight checquer'd shade,
Where the bat circled, and the rooks repos'd,
(Their wars suspended, and their counsels clos'd)
An antique mansion burst in awful state,

A rich vine clustering round its Gothic gate.
Nor paus'd he there. The master of the scene
Saw his light step imprint the dewy green;
And, slow advancing, hail'd him as his guest,
Won by the honest warmth his looks express'd,

He wore the rustic manners of a 'Squire ;

Age had not quench'd one spark of manly fire;
But giant Gout had bound him in her chain,
And his heart panted for the chace in vain.

Yet here Remembrance sweetly-soothing power! Wing'd with delight Confinement's lingering hour, The fox's brush still emulous to wear,

He scour'd the country in his elbow-chair ;
And, with view-halloo, rous'd the dreaming hound,
That rung, by starts, his deep ton'd music round.

Long by the paddock's humble pale confin'd,
His aged hunters cours'd the viewless wind:
And each with glowing energy pourtray'd,
The far-fam'd triumphs of the field display'd ;
Usurp'd the canvas of the crowded hall,
And chas'd a line of heroes from the wall.
There slept the horn each jocund echo knew,
And many a smile, and many a story drew!
High o'er the hearth his forest-trophies hung,
And their fantastic branches wildly flung.

How would he dwell on each vast antler there!
This dash'd the wave, that fann'd the mountain air,
Each, as it frown'd unwritten records bore,
Of gallant feats and festivals of yore.
But why the tale prolong?-His only child,
His darling JULIA on the stranger smil'd.