"'TIS SAID THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE."

That in fome other way yon fmoke

May mount into the sky!

The clouds pafs on; they from the heavens depart.

I look—the sky is empty space;

I know not what I trace;

But, when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.

"O, what a weight is in these shades!
ye leaves,
When will that dying murmur be fuppreff❜d?
Your found my heart of peace bereaves,

It robs my heart of rest.

Thou thrush, that fingest loud-and loud and free,

Into yon row of willows flit,

Upon that alder fit,

Or fing another fong, or choose another tree.

"Roll back, sweet rill! back to thy mountain bounds,

And there for ever be thy waters chain'd!

For thou doft haunt the air with founds

That cannot be sustain'd;

If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough

Headlong yon waterfall muft come,

Oh let it then be dumb !—

Be anything, sweet rill, but that which thou art now.

"Thou eglantine, whofe arch so proudly towers (Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale),

91

Thou one fair fhrub-oh, shed thy flowers,
And ftir not in the gale!

For thus to fee thee nodding in the air,

To fee thy arch thus ftretch and bend,

Thus rife and thus defcend,

Disturbs me, till the fight is more than I can bear."

The man who makes this feverish complaint
Is one of giant ftature, who could dance
Equipp'd from head to foot in iron mail.
Ah gentle love! if ever thought was thine
To store up kindred hours for me, thy face
Turn from me, gentle love! nor let me walk
Within the found of Emma's voice, or know
Such happiness as I have known to-day.

ELION and Offa flourish side by side,
Together in immortal books enrolled :
His ancient dower Olympus hath not fold;
And that infpiring hill, which "did divide
Into two ample horns his forehead wide,"
Shines with poetic radiance as of old;
While not an English mountain we behold
By the celestial muses glorified.

Yet round our fea-girt fhore they rife in crowds:
What was the great Parnaffus' felf to thee,
Mount Skiddaw? In his natural fovereignty

Our British hill is fairer far: he shrouds
His double-fronted head in higher clouds,
And pours forth ftreams more sweet than Castaly.

"THE CHILDLESS FATHER."

"Up, Timothy, up, with your staff, and away!
Not a foul in the village this morning will stay;
The hare has just started from Hamilton's grounds,
And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds."

-Of coats and of jackets, grey, scarlet, and green,
On the flopes of the pastures all colours were feen;
With their comely blue aprons, and caps white as snow,
The girls on the hills made a holiday show.

The bafin of boxwood, just fix months before,
Had ftood on the table at Timothy's door.
A coffin through Timothy's threshold had pass'd;
One child did it bear, and that child was his last.

Now faft up the dell came the noise and the fray,
The horse and the horn, and the "hark! hark away!"

Old Timothy took up his staff, and he shut,

With a leisurely motion, the door of his hut.

Perhaps to himself at that moment he said,
"The key I must take, for my Helen is dead."
But of this in my ears not a word did he speak,
And he went to the chase with a tear on his cheek.

INSCRIPTION

For the Spot where the Hermitage Stood

ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT-WATER.

This island, guarded from profane approach
By mountains high, and waters widely spread,
Is that recefs to which St. Herbert came
In life's decline: a felf- fecluded man,
After long exercise in social cares
And offices humane, intent to adore
The Deity, with undistracted mind,
And meditate on everlasting things.

-Stranger! this fhapeless heap of ftones and earth

(Long be its moffy covering undisturbed!)

Is reverenced as a veftige of the abode