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Give me, give me the bloom, o'er which
The yellow buds-give them to rest,
Take far from me the wine-cup bright,
It suits glad brows, and bosoms light—
Oh, I can pledge the heart no more
Sorrow hath touch'd my bosom's core,
Give me to drink of Lethe's wave-
Wake not, upon my tuneless ear
But place the Æolian harp upon
There, when heaven shrouds the dying sun,
My weary steps will rove,
As o'er its chords night pours its breath,
To list the serenade of death,
Her silent bourne above!
Give me to seek the lonely tomb,
Where sleeps the sainted dead,
Now the pale nightfall throws its gloom
Above the narrow bed;
There, while the winds which sweep along,
O'er the harp-strings are driven,
And the funereal soul of song
Upon the air is given;
Oh let my faint and parting breath
Oh! for my bright and faded hours
On whose gay banks the virgin flowers
The sun look'd from his lofty cloud,
Ah! these were bright and joyous hours,
That scene of love!-where hath it gone?
And I am left on earth to mourn:
Yet why pour forth the voice of wail
Oh, my dark hours on earth are few-
To seek enduring joys in heaven!
MARY A. BROOKS.
MRS BROOKS is a native of Medford, Massachusetts, and a descendant of an ancient Welch family, of the name of Gowen, not unknown in the history of Wales. She now resides in the Island of Cuba, and is engaged in the continuation of a poetical work, the first canto of which was published in Boston, in 1825.
Her education was zealously prosecuted, without great advantages, at an early period of life. Ambitious of excellence in all the accomplishments desired by females of aspiring minds, she has obtained, by self-instruction, a very good acquaintance with ancient literature, and a perfect knowledge of the refined modern languages, together with exquisite skill in music and painting. Constant and severe discipline has given her a power and versatility of thought, which promises for her future life a harvest of renown. She paid frequent visits to the Castalian fount, in early youth, and the inspiration gained there, if at first uncertain and feeble, has been steadily increasing, till it has risen to a vigor, that surprises us in one of "the most delicate of women."
"Judith and Esther," with a collection of fugitive pieces, consisting of her childish productions, was her first publication. It contains, of course, much imperfection; many things, that mature minds cannot dwell upon with increasing satisfaction; but it also evinces a delicate and lively fancy, a dawn of that intellectual brightness, which has been realized in the subsequent publication of the first canto of Zophiel, and which she is now engaged in completing. In this poem, a new style and a fresh power, is manifested. The study of many languages, a residence where the Spanish is almost exclusively spoken, a fervent contemplation of the old masters of the English lyre, and a struggle to shake off the feebleness, attached, by common consent, and confirmed by submissive habit, to the minds of women, all conspired to give an unusual energy to the efforts of her muse.
Zophiel is the production of a vigorous imagination, and a warm fancy, in the stately manner of the old English verse. It is often harsh, and frequently obscure, on account of the numerous elisions and inversions but is also replete with rich and just thought, that well repays the study necessary for its comprehension. From the extreme softness which characterized her early fugitive pieces, Mrs Brooks suddenly, and unfortunately for her popularity, seems to have run into a style in the opposite extreme; but when more experience has corrected her judgment, it is not extravagant to expect from her pen, poetry of the highest and purest kind.
The subject of Zophiel was unfortunately chosen, for while it was in progress in the Island of Cuba, Moore and Byron preoccupied the field, by the story of the Loves of the Angels; a more difficult and dangerous task is therefore, imposed upon the fair author, in attempting to complete the work in competition with these master spirits.
After an examination of the first canto, and learning that it did not succeed in this, the native country of the writer, Mr Southey wrote her a letter requesting that the subsequent cantos might be published in England and offering to superintend their introduction to the public. We hope she will not be obliged to accept this foreign hospitality through the indifference or neglect of her countrymen.
SEPHORA held her to her heart, the while
Sigh'd forth o'erpowering breath, increased the heat;
She sank. "T is thus, kind Nature lets our wo
And lays her sorrowing child soft in the lap of rest.
Now all the mortal maid lies indolent,
Save one sweet cheek which the cool velvet turf
That foams against the sea-rock, look'd her neck,
Beneath her robe's white folds and azure zone,
Sportive about her neck their gold he twined,
As the vex'd Caspian, though its rage be past
Heaves on tumultuous still, and hath not power to cease
So still each little pulse was seen to throb
Though passion and its pains were lull'd to rest,
And ever and anon" a piteous sob
Shook the pure arch expansive o'er her breast.
Save that 't was all tranquillity; that reign'd
It chanced, that day, lured by the verdure, came
He sinn'd, a heavenly angel. The faint flame