« AnteriorContinuar »
latime left the She has "She sighed Com as she
hand.' We looked back upon her as she left us. After a pause," She is an angel!” sighed Charles ;_" She is an heiress," observed Jonathan. “ She has ten thousand perfections ! ” cried Rhyme;—" She has ten thousand pounds,” said Reason. ..
We left them the next morning, and spent some days in speculations on the causes which enabled such union of affections to exist with such diversities of taste. For ourselves, we must confess, that while Reason has secured our esteem, Rhyme has run away with our hearts; we have sometimes thought with Jonathan, but we have always felt with Charles.
THE EVE OF BATTLE.
" It is not yet near day. Come, go with me
The night comes on, and o'er the field
Who burn to meet, or strive to shun,
The dangers of to-morrow's sun.
Turn to yon open tent, and see Where, drunk with youth and Burgundy, Reclines, his midnight revel'o'er, The beau of battle, Theodore. Before him, on his desk, he lays The billet-doux of other days; . And while he reads, his fancy lingers . On those white hands and witching fingers, That traced the darling signatures The “yours till death” and “-truly yours :"And, as by turns they meet his eye, He looks, and laughs, and throws them bý, Until perchance some magic name? Lights up a spark of former flame; And then he ponders, in his trance, On Mary's love-inspiring glance, On Chloe's eye of glittering fire, And Laura's look of fond desire. Poor Theodore! if valiant breast, And open heart, and song, and jest, And laughing lip, and auburn hair, And vow sent up by lady fair,
Can save a youthful warrior's life,
Look yondermon the dewy sward Tom Wittol liesma brother bard; He lies, and ponders on the stars, On virtue, genius, and the wars ; On dark ravines, and woody dells, On mirth and muses, shot and shells ; On black mustachios, and White Surrey, On rhyme and sabres-death and Murray; Until at last bis fancy glows, As if it felt to-morrow's blows; Anticipation fires his brain, With fights unfought, unslaughtered slain ; And on the fray that is to be, Comes forth a Dirge or Elegy :And if he meets no heavier harm To-morrow from a foeman's arm, Than crack'd cuirass, or broken head, He'll hasten from his fever's bed, And, just broke loose from salve and lint,' Rush, like a hero, into print; Heading his light and harmless prattle“ Linesmwritten on a field of battle.” Thou favoured bard-go boldly on,The Muse shall guard her darling son ; And when the musquet's steady aim Is levell’d at the pet of fame, The Muse shall check the impious crime, And shield thee with a ream of rhyme; But if 'tis doom'd, and fall thou must, Since bards, like other men, are dust, Upon the tomb where thou shalt sleep Phæbus and Mars alike shall weep;
And he that lov'd, but could not save,
What wight is that, whose distant nose. Gives token loud of deep repose ? What! honest Harry on the ground ! . . I'faith thy sleep is wondrous sound, For one who looks, upon his waking, To sleep “ the sleep that knows not breaking.” But rest thee, rest! thou merriest soul That ever lov'd the circling bowl; I look upon his empty cup, And sudden tears uncalld spring up; Perchance, in this abode of pother, Kind Harry may not drain another, But still our Comrades at the Bell Of Harry's prowess long shall tell.; And dignify with well-earn'd praise The revelry of other days. . And then the merry tale will run it Of many a wager lost and won, On many a jest, and many a song, it's And many a peal of laughter long, That from our jovial circle broke At Harry's toast, or Harry's joke, Again, at Fancy's touch restor’d, Our old sirloin shall grace the board; Again at Fancy's touch shall flow The tap we drain d'an age ago. And thou, the soul of fun, the life Of noisy mirth and playful strife, May'st sleep in honour's worm-worn bed The dreamless slumber of the dead. But oft shall one sad heart at least Think on the smile, that never ceas’d
Its catching influence, till the earth
Dazzle mine eyes ? or do I see t
Sir Jacob arming! what despair
* Suum cuique :
« So that day I still hail with a smile and a sigh,
For his beer with an E, and his bier with an I.”--CANNING. + " Edw. Dazzle mine eyes? or do I see three suns!
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun.”-ShaksPEARE.