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60

Ballad--- Why is the Spanish maiden's O how art thou fallen, thou city of God 940
grave

446 O melancholy bird, a winter's day 396
Bloomfield, verses on
262, 358 Oo the death of lieut. Hood

403
British grenadiers, a song
40 Ona child playing

210
On the wings of the whirlwind 387
On an ivy leaf

Our slavery is finished, our labour is done 88
Cape of the Caba Rumia
164 Oxford prize poem

140
Carmen Natale

468
Clever idiot

122
Persian melodies

310, 465
Poet's tbanks, by Barton

191
Echoes, by Prior
48 Pyramus and Thisbe, a ballad

469
Elegiac Stanzas, written by a stranger 165

187,

Shepherd's son

366
Flower of Gnido
60 Signs of rain

488
Flowers, by Bernard Barton
331 Song---flower of beauty

456
Floating beacon

150 Song---for thee, love, for thee, love 31
Forget me not

302 Song of a fallen angel, imitation of Moore 41
Souod leapt from the tower

48
Song of the Children of Israel

88

228
(iipsy's prophecy

Sonnet on seing an infant dead
187
Sonnet on an infant Jove

319
Go dig ye a tomb

58
Song by Walter Scott

358
Stanzas to the head of Mempon

374
Sunday evening

443
Harp of Zion

340, 382
Harp of the zephyr, whose last breath 424
Heads and tails

126
The last man, by Campbell

102
Heart's motto, forget me not

302
The three mighty

118
The Orphan

165

There is no smile to answer thine 165
If’t were not for the splendid light 265 The deepest snow will drop away 196
I shed no tear, I heave no sigh

122 The ring you gave, the kiss you gave 292
I think on thee

310
The heavens two

310
I was but a child when my father fell 245 The deali babe

311
The milkmaid, a fable

284
The Erl King

439
The orphan boy

414
Life insurance
*128 The parting

456
Lines on the mausoleum of the princess The first born

481
Charlotte

392 To a bird that baunted the waters 996
Lost Pleiad

403
Lord William, a Scottish song

11
Unknown grave

169
Mary Gray, a tale

409
Mary, lines to

48
Mare without a fault

126 Verses to the memory of Bloomfield 358
Misapplied benevolence

311
Moorish bridal song

102
Mountain song

281

Watch-fires are blazing on hill and plain 118
Why are you wandering here, I pray 67
What little bark is yon that toils 476

117
Negro’s Euthanasia

476 Why do we love

Why art thou thus, thou lonely bark 150

31

October, a sketch
Ode to the sea
Ode to a mountain torrent
Ode, by William Coombe

454
449 Yet not for me thy chaplet weave
314
971

SPIRIT

OF THE

ENGLISH MAGAZINES.

BOSTON, OCTOBER 1, 1823.

(Blackwood's Mag.) AUTUMNAL MEDITATIONS.

AMID the stillness of an Autuma eve,
When, thus, the western sun his latest ray
Pours with a crimson lustre ; and the clouds,
Tinged with etherial glory, hang around
In many-colour'd masses, I delight,
With meditative step to roam the fields,
The woodland paths, and pause on rural slopes,
From which my gaze extends o'er far, wide vales,
And forests dim, and farins, and cottages,
From whose low hearths the pale blue smoke ascends.

Sacred to njusing is the Autumn eve,
And dear to tender thought. The summer's pride,
The gorgeous fields, and flowers of every tinct,
Have mellow'd, and have wither’d. Silently,
Across the aspect of terrestrial things,
The chilling change hath pinion'd its wide light,
And all is alter'd : a wild sickliness
Pervades the face of nature : Evening's clouds
Are duskier ; Morning's sky less pure : the winds
More boisterously loud, and even the birds
Less joyous in their soft-toned, simple songs.

Scarcely a month hath past, since last I stood
Amid this scene, then fresh and beautiful ;
Its long fields waving with luxuriant grain ;
Its woods in rich variety attired ;
Its flowers of every hue, and perfume bland.-
Now shaven are the plains ; the sickle's sweep
Hath levell’d their tall beauty ; heard no more,
Under the still repose of even-tide,
The sweet sad warbling of the reaper's voice,
(Calling from distance recollected themes
Of his lone Celtic home, amid the hills,)
Steals on the wanderer's ear, as pensively,
With cheek on hand, o'er moss-grown pale he leans,
And, in the stillness, seems like a low dirge,
By Nature breathed in touching melody!

The faded woods a sallow livery wear ;
Each leaf that quivers on the drooping spray,
Or, with the transient breeze-fit drops adown,
Speaking, in tones of deepest influence,
of the decay of all things, of the pomp

How passing! and the changes of the earth.2 ATHENEUM VOL. 14.

.

In May, that fence was sprinkled with white flowers
or hawthorn over-mantling every bough,
And hiding the green beauty of the leaves :-
In June that chesnut shot its blossom'd spires
Of silver upward, 'mid the foliage dark,
As if some sylvan deity had hung
Its dim umbrageousness with votive wreaths ;-
Over that turbid stream, from dark, moist rocks,
Descending in wild foam, the willow hangs
Its drooping boughs, half-leafless : pastoral flowers
Withering decline their languid heads : the haw,
Food for the small birds, 'mid the brumal dearth,
In redness decorates the yellowing hedge ;
The orange bipp o'ertops the eglantine ;
And from the bramble's lithe, and prickly boughs,
The wild rasp hangs in juicy ripeness black.

It is a lone and melancholy scene Of sickness, stillness, and forlorn decay ! A natural sermon to the heart of man, A beautiful memento of the grave ! Lo ! as I pass, from off the tall scathed ash The raven startled, takes to flight, and wings Its lonely way to the mid wood; more deep Eve's shadow fall, till the green hills become Blue, and o'ermantled with a hazy tinct. The spaniel from my foot starts forth, as if Some sound had lured him, and, with fore-paws placed On rising turf, he stands : thence, with raised ears, Looks for th attentive : from the moors, dim-seen, Region of wild thyme, broom, and heather green, With wearied pointers twain, the sportsınan comes ; His gun sloped o'er his shoulder, and his bag Heavy with slaughter'd game : On he pursues, With laggard step, his journey, travel-worn, And weary for the glittering star of home, The blazing hearth,

where, o'er his evening meal, And cheering cup, of marvels he proclaims, Seen on the mountain, and of wondrous feats Perform'd; the covey scatter'd, and the hare Shot at far distance, 'mid the wither'd gorse. Over the rutted road the empty wane Homeward is driven ; and, at far intervals, Towards yon low village, wends the husbandman, Slow sauntering by :—With a wild, wailing shriek, Heard from above, the white-mew, with slow wing, Drops downward to the sea-shore, and is met Oo high, by wild-geese flock, on journey bent Far inland, flying wedge-wise, and drawn up In regular files, as if for marshall'd war. Well it accords, at such a pensive hour, When from the southern sky with beauteous beam Shines dewy Hesper ; and the far-off hills Have sombred all their tints of greenery, In solitude to ponder o'er the thoughts Of childhood, and of boyhood, and of youth, And all the magic of departed years ! To conjure np the bright Elysian dreams That hovered round, and cheated the warm heart, (As in Arabia's central plains, the sands, Like waters gleam, mocking the pilgrim's eye ;) To see again the faces that around Life's path then throng'd, in sunny joyfulness, And now are scatter'd o'er the wide round world, Or, slumbering in the silence of the grave, Are to its murmurs deaf, its praises lost ; Well it accords, then, in a fond review, To summon forth the heart's long-banish'd loves, The young affections that decoy'd the soul, Beauty's warm cheek, and Friendship's laughing eye : In fond review to dwell upon the scenes

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