Till sympathetic drops unbidden start, And pangs, quick-springing, muster round his heart; And soft he treads, with other gazers round, And fain would catch her sorrow's plaintive sound: One short, pathetic, simple word, "Oh dear!" That wafts the sigh, but leaves the pang behind! She hears th' unwelcome foot advancing nigh; Fair-promised sunbeams of terrestrial bliss- To stay the tottering step, the features trace- LORD THURLOW. ON BEHOLDING BODIHAM CASTLE, ON THE BANK OF THE ROTHER, IN SUSSEX. Oн thou, brave ruin of the passed time, When glorious spirits shone in burning arms, And the brave trumpet, with its sweet alarms, Call'd honour! at the matin hour sublime, And the gray ev'ning; thou hast had thy prime, And thy full vigour, and the eating harms Of age have robb'd thee of thy warlike charms, And placed thee here, an image in my rhyme; The owl now haunts thee, and oblivion's plant, The creeping ivy, has o'er-veil'd thy towers; And Rother, looking up with eye askant, Recalling to his mind thy brighter hours, Laments the time when, fair and elegant, Beauty first laugh'd from out thy joyous bowers! LEIGH HUNT. TO HIS SON, SIX YEARS OLD, DURING A SICKNESS. SLEEP breathes at last from out thee, I sit me down, and think Thy sidelong pillow'd meekness, The little trembling hand Sorrows I've had, severe ones, Ah, first-born of thy mother, Yes, still he's fix'd and sleeping! Like parting wings of Cherubim, Who say, "We've finished here." CHARLES DIBDIN. 1745-1814. TOM BOWLING. HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, No more he'll hear the tempest howling, His form was of the manliest beauty, Faithful below he did his duty, Tom never from his word departed, His friends were many and true-hearted, And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly, Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, Shall give, to call life's crew together, Thus death, who kings and tars despatches, For, though his body's under hatches, ROBERT SOUTHEY. NIGHT. How beautiful is night! In full-orb'd glory yonder moon divine The desert-circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. Who at this untimely hour Nor palm-grove islanded amid the waste. The mother and her child, The widow'd mother and the fatherless boy, PARADISE. Where'er his eye could reach, Fair structures, rainbow-hued, arose; And rich pavilions through the opening woods Gleam'd from their waving curtains sunny gold; And winding through the verdant vale Flow'd streams of liquid light; And fluted cypresses rear'd up Their living obelisks; And broad-leaved plane-trees in long colonnades O'er-arched delightful walks, Where round their trunks the thousand-tendrill'd vine Wearied with endless beauty, did his eyes Shines the red eye-spot, like one brightest star, Her paradise of leaves. Then on his ear what sounds Far music and the distance-mellow'd song The murmuring of the leafy groves; Perch'd in the rosier by, so richly toned, |