Where weeping Genius views her luckless child,
Wreck peace and fame in Pleasure's vortex wild.

Virtue oppressed, that stoops not to repine,

Whose brow appears th' unshaken throne of Truth; Around whose heart is wove in many a twine

The fond affections of his early youth,

Treads the lone scenes, sweet haunt of happier days,
While Nature weeps in Memory's glowing dream,
And the gay forms that meet his mournful gaze,
To him the sons of other regions seem;
At his approach no cheek with rapture glows,
Or wears the tear of pity for his woes.

Alas! on him no eye with transport beams,
And fond Solicitude ne'er sooths to rest
The darken'd soul that wild with anguish deems
The unconscious maniac, free from memory blest;
While the light heart prompts the unmeaning smile,
Tho' Frenzy's fire burns in the tearless eye,
Her visions wild the cheerless hours beguile,
And sorrow glitters in the rainbow's dye;
While conscious Woe, poor misanthrope, retires
To waste in solitude his noblest fires.

Angels of mercy! hallowed sons of light!
Amid the roseate arbours of the blest
Ye pause, in music's bold inspiring flight,
To soothe the sorrows of a mortal breast;

1

Ye fly eternity, where bliss sublime

Smiles amid groves where living fountains flow, To still the storms that shake the darkened clime, Where virtue struggles on the tide of woe; That joyless clime where youth's warm generous soul Sees Hope expire at Disappointment's goal.

Oh as ye fly, some bright refulgent star,
When the dread Spirit of the silent night
O'er heaven's blue vault drives his resplendent car,
His coursers glowing in ethereal light;

Oh as o'er midnight's azure dome ye sweep,

Your harpstrings glittering in the moon's pure beam, In Slumber's dew the eye of Sorrow steep,

And banish Care in Fancy's golden dream; While your bright wings wave o'er the sacred dell Where Grief and Solitude delight to dwell.

With Care's deep lines traced on his pallid brow,
And Beauty's image pictured on his brain,
Hark weeping Love to Sorrow pays his vow,
At Virtue's grave, beneath thy midnight reign;
On the cold sod, moist with nocturnal dew,
That shrouds his Ellen in impervious gloom,
His dark soul hails the solitary yew,

That bends its branches o'er her lonely tomb;
And Fancy hovering o'er the humid mound,
Still hears the dust on her cold bosom sound.

Ab still he views her lovely fragile form,
The beauteous victim of disease, consume,
As the fair floweret blasted by the storm,

Bows to the wind that tears its withering bloom: While Death's dark scenes meet frenzied Memory's view, Starting, he seems to hear the heart-wrung sigh, Convulsive mingled with the faint adieu,

As Love's last beam shone in the closing eye;

Ere the pure spirit fled its dark abode,

And soared exulting to the throne of God.

Vain is the hope that Pleasure's dazzling blaze
Will chase the shades of Grief's nocturnal hour;
Vain is the gay delusion that betrays

The child of sorrow to her magic bower!
True, she will gleam and glitter on the sight,
And even the brow of pallid Woe illume,
As the wild meteor of the wintry night

Lures the lost wanderer thro' the deepening gloom; Till faint it dies on the dark river's wave,

In whose cold breast the pilgrim finds a grave.

To thee, oh Solitude, the breaking heart

That shivering withers in the grasp of Care, May all the story of its woe impart,

And breath the grief-taught accents of Despair; Till softer sighs th' unburthen'd bosom breathes, Soothed by the silence of thy hallowed grove,

Soft as the gales that fan immortal wreaths,
Binding the brow of infant shades above;
Who fled in terror from the frowns of Time,
And sought Eternity's congenial clime.

Oh could I find thee in some hermit cell,
Reared amid cliffs, where foamy torrents rave,
While far below the fallen waters swell,
Dashing the craggs of Echo's hoary cave;
Amid the silence of thy dwelling drear,

Its mossy dome moist with the tears of Even,
Fancy would love to wing her wild career

Where Nature wears the majesty of Heaven! Throned on the summit of the cliff sublime, Which rose majestic at the birth of time.

Oh I would scale the rugged steep with thee,

Mid whose wild columns waves the twisting thorn, When Night, pale spectre! from the misty sea

Mounts her dim cloud, and fleets before the morn; And when the glorious majesty of light

Waves his receding banners o'er the world, And the pure star that binds the zone of Night,

Gilds angel-pinions o'er her throne unfurled! Mid scenes like these, Faith o'er Life's ocean soars, And breasts the tide that laves eternal shores.

ELEGY,

ON THE

DEATH OF SIR RALPH ABERCROMBY, K.B:

BY THE REV. D. W. DAVIES, B. A.

LATE, where yon rugged cliff in towering pride
Defies unmov'd the fury of the storm,—
Her eyes quick darting o'er th' expanded tide,-
A Maid appear'd of more than human form.

Her azure robe, her ægis, and her spear,

Proclaim'd her Guardian-Angel of our isle: Her stedfast look express'd nor grief, nor fear, Nor yet was mark'd with Joy's exulting smile:

Deep-felt solicitude appear'd impress'd

On every feature, as on every thought, While she revolv'd within her anxious breast

The fate of those who for her glory fought.