And lustres, never dimmed by tears, Were not misnamed from lustrous years. Alas! that such a tale must seem Where earth, a luminous sphere portrayed, V. Yes, although fleeting rapidly, And he was gladsome as the bee* Might this endure ?-her husband came But ere his tongue pronounced her shame 'Twas whispered by whose hand he fell, Happy, the monster of that Nile, The vast and vigorous crocodile ; VI. She ceased to smile back on the sun, And earth, which gave, resumed the charms, Whose freshness withered in its arms: But never walked upon its face, Nor mouldered in its dull embrace, A creature fitter to prepare Sorrow, or social joy to share: When her the latter life required, Whither have fled that inner light, Life may redeem her likeness yet, But both will bear another name, VII. While Hope attends her sacred fire, All joy rejoices in its pyre : Once quenched, what ray the flame renews! When ill-report disgraced his name, As if it ever craved to die: They err; the full of soul regard, More than the calm, their graves with hate; The loss of such a life is hard, And, ending their eventful fate, From so much into nothing must The change be pain-from this to dust! To fill the chasms of the breast, VIII. As sunk, avoiding mortal touch, The child of vapour and the sky,* Which cheats the thirsty Arab's eye, Only the palm, heat-loving tree, Men's primal strength and youth restore, RODOLPH, PART II. 1. How feels the guiltless dreamer, who Has let his mind's glance wander through The relics of past days?— As feels the pilgrim that has scanned, Within their skirting wall, The moonlit marbles of some grand Disburied capital; Masses of whiteness and of g.wm, The darkly bright remains Of desolate palace, empty tomb, For in the ruins of old hours, What though are of another age Their voices-fear can still divine: The soul all hostile advents sees, As in the mirror-stone; Like shadows by a brilliant day Of the inquisitive and bold. Things which, like fleeting insect-mothers, In the calm scene he viewed was aught As woman's softest sleep: IV. Perhaps, presentiment of ill Might shake him-hearts are prophets stil What though the fount of Castaly Not now stains leaves with prophecy? He backed his steed, and took his way VI. Hot fever raged in Rodolph's brain, And then he raved of many trimes, Or changing scenery; And often on his language hung * Vide Suetonius. 66 Thy face revives the face of one, "That loved in other days "Of whom or thought or speech was none "Less passionate than praise: "So much she beautified the place Replete with her in time and space. "Thy face revives the face of one, "That died in other days "Who bought, not borrowed, from the sun "Its scarcely needed rays; "And thousand charms could not concur "To make thee fair,-yet unlike her. "It is herself!--the gods in pity "Restore her from the silent city!— "Now, where are they, that falsely said, "Her form in stirless dust was laid? "Who reared the lying pyramid, "Whose epitaph, and lamp, and flame, "L'Herbe Maudite." "Told that her heavenward hone lay hid "In its sky-pointing frame? 66 But hearts and hands have met once more "We will be happy as before; "And my crime-sullied memory "Like a rewritten code* shall be, “If, memory, on thy silent shore "The stream of time hath left "Some broken hopes, plans quick no more, "And thoughts of breath bereft ; "The strong belief in happiness, "It could but half destroy; "The now dead generous carelessness, "That hung around the boy; "And feelings which the subtile wave "Bore not through later years "Such wrecks the smiles of wisdom crave "Not less than passion's tears.— "But thou, the sweetest of Eve's daughters, "Geniust of that shore, and those waters!"A music visible, a light "Like lamps unto an infant's sight!— "A temple of celestial soul, "Too lovely for aught ill to mar, "Nor will my limbs avail to ear "My feeble, sickly body, where "Thou standest moveless by. "I feel a weary wish to close "Mine eyelids in a long repose; "But fear that thou wilt fly, "And let me wake alone to sigh "That one so beautiful could die ! XII. "Author of my unhappiness! "Let me thy lip and small hand press. "Preserved still fresh, like grapes in wine. "Can dream one hope to meet again. 66 'She lies amid the sluggish mould, "Her ardent heart has long been cold: "Above it wave the idle weeds, "On it the sordid earth-worm feeds. "Mine too is buried there-her knell "Served also for its passing bell; "It died—and would have known 'twas time "Without that melancholy chime. "That knell !—I feel its strokes again, "Like stunning blows upon my brain "I listen yet the dissonant laughter "Of the same bell, some moments after; "And now the frequent ding-dong hear, "With which it mimics hope and fear. BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF EDWARD COATE PINKNEY, BY THE LATE WILLIAM LEGGETT. (WRITTEN IN 927.) A BIOGRAPHICAL account of eminent men, || awakened the fondest hopes of his future who still exist among us, must generally eminence-hopes that one of his parents be brief and imperfect. Many interesting has lived to see fully realized. Between anecdotes of their private lives are forgotten and eleven years of age, he was placed ten by friendship, until the grave gives a new impulse to memory; and such as are recollected, are communicated with reluctance, and must be used with cautious delicacy. Of the poet, in particular, it is difficult to acquire biographical materials; his life glides along in unobtrusive and unnoticed seclusion; and a narrative, disclosing the place and time of his birth, his opportunities of education, and the nature and merits of the different productions of his genius, is, very often, all that can be furnished, even after death has unlocked the sources of information. In the present instance, our space will not allow us to be diffuse; and the necessary paucity of data forbids minuteness of accuracy: yet, in speaking of this distinguished individual, whatever we relate may be relied on as true, and whatever is true of him cannot but be interesting. EDWARD COATE PINKNEY, the third of ten children of the illustrious William Pinkney, was born in London, in the month of October, 1802, while his father was Minister of the United States at the Court of St. James. His mother, who is still living, is the sister of Commodore Rogers. Nearly nine years of the infancy of Mr. Pinkney were passed in England, at the expiration of which time his parents returned with him to this country, and established again their residence in Baltimore. At an early period of his life, Mr. Pinkney exhibited evidences of genius which a student in Baltimore College, where the rapidity of his progress excited the surprise of his classmates, and the warm encomiums of his instructors. When about fourteen his father procured for him the appointment of Midshipman, in the navy of the United States; and bidding adieu, in the course of a few months after, to the walls of a college, he entered, full of hope and gayety, into the active performance of the duties of his office. He continued in the service nine years, during which he necessarily had many and advantageous opportunities of visiting various parts of the globe; and a long Mediterranean cruise made him intimately acquainted with some of the most interesting scenes of classic story. The beautiful poem entitled Italy, of which we shall speak anon, sufficiently shows that he looked upon those scenes with a poet's eye. On the death of his father, from a desire to be with his bereaved mother, he resigned his appointment in the navy: and soon after, animated with a noble ambition to tread in the path which had led his parent to greatness, he commenced the practice of the law, in which he has since continued with unabated ardor, and with such closeness of application as has prevented the exercise of that brilliant poetic genius which nature has bestowed upon him in an unu sual degree. In 1824 he was married to Miss Georgiana M'Causland, who must indeed have been a beautiful and accomplished young lady, if she sat for the por |