CAMPBELL'S hatred of tyranny, and his exertions in the cause of the oppressed, and particularly the unfortunate Poles, will not lightly pass away from the memory of those who so largely benefited by his labours. During his lifetime some of the most eminent of the ancient noblesse of Poland expressed a grateful sense of obligation due to him. At his funeral there were not wanting sincere mourners for his loss (some of whom scattered "kindred dust" upon his coffin). After his decease, Lord Dudley Stuart, as Vice-President of the Polish Association, forwarded to Campbell's executors a tribute of condolence, from which the following passage is extracted: "Nor did Mr. Campbell content himself with a mere abstract feeling of sympathy for the friendless and destitute Poles. No, his purse was open to them with a liberality far more in accordance with his generous nature than with the extent of his means: and early in the year 1832, in conjunction with the Polish poet Niemciewitz and the celebrated Prince Czartoryski, he founded this Association for the purpose of diffusing and keeping alive in the public mind a lively interest for ill-fated Poland. His pathetic, eloquent, and fervid address to our countrymen, throughout the empire, as our first president, on behalf of that unfortunate country, was eminently effective and successful. By imparting a knowledge of the objects of the parent society, he conciliated much powerful support from men of all parties in the state." A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR. THE more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages; A day to childhood seems a year, The gladsome current of our youth, Steals, lingering like a river smooth But, as the care-worn cheek grows wan, Ye stars, that measure life to man, When joys have lost their bloom and breath, Why, as we reach the Falls of death, It may be strange-yet who would change Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of Youth, a seeming length, SONG. How delicious is the winning Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, Love he comes, and Love he tarries, Bind the sea to slumber stilly, Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, Then bind Love to last for ever! Love's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel; Love's wing moults when caged and captured, Only free, he soars enraptured. Can you keep the bee from ranging, MARGARET AND DORA. MARGARET's beauteous-Grecian arts Ne'er drew form completer, Yet why, in my heart of hearts, Hold I Dora's sweeter? Dora's eyes of heavenly blue Pass all painting's reach, The music of her speech. Artists! Margaret's smile receive, And on canvas show it; But for perfect worship leave Dora to her poet. THE POWER OF RUSSIA. So all this gallant blood has gush'd in vain! And Poland, by the Northern Condor's beak And talons torn, lies prostrated again. O British patriots, that were wont to speak Once loudly on this theme, now hush'd or meek! O heartless men of Europe-Goth and Gaul, Cold, adder-deaf to Poland's dying shriek ;That saw the world's last land of heroes fallThe brand of burning shame is on you all-allall! But this is not the drama's closing act! great, Wo! wo! when they are reach'd by Russia's withering hate. |