For she was very beautiful, And I own her pretty winning ways How much more fondly I shall prize AUTUMN VERSES. By BARRY CORNWALL. The Summer past, what dreams are over! Sounds are in the earth and ether, And mine-thine! Shout, ye Winds and Thunders! So, through wild November, I will dream of beauty, I know!-I know! RECOLLECTIONS. The Author of this poem is not known, but it well deserves preservation in these pages. I'VE pleasant thoughts which memory brings, in moments free from care, Of a fairy-like and laughing girl, with roses in her hair; Her smile was like the starlight of summer's softest skies, And worlds of joyousness there shone from out her witching eyes. Her looks were looks of melody, her voice was like the swell Of sudden music, gentle notes that of deep gladness tell : She came, like spring, with pleasant sounds of sweetness and of mirth, And her thoughts were those wild flowery thoughts that linger not on earth. A quiet goodness beam'd amid the beauty of her face, one, And her light spirit saw no ill in aught beneath the sun. I've dream'd of just such creatures, but they never met my view, 'Mid the sober dull reality in their earthly form and hue, And her smile came gently o'er me like spring's first scented airs, And made me think life was not all a wilderness of cares. I know not of her destiny, or where her smile now strays, But the thought of her comes o'er me with my own lost sunny days, With moonlight hours, and far-off friends, and many pleasant things That have gone the way of all the earth, on Time's resistless wings. WAKE OF WILLIAM ORR. The author of this spirited Irish Ballad was Dr. DRENNAN, one of the ablest of the writers among the United Irishmen. His songs were esteemed by Moore as almost the best of modern lyrics. Orr, whose wake is here celebrated, was a young Presbyterian farmer of Antrim, who was executed under circumstances of harshness amounting almost to cruelty, for participation in the insurrection of 1798. HERE our murdered brother lies; Write his merits on your mind; Why cut off in palmy youth? And died-for what his Saviour died. God of Peace, and God of Love, Hapless Nation! rent and torn, Hunted through thy native grounds, Hapless Nation-hapless Land, God of mercy! God of peace! Monstrous and unhappy sight! Mix, and fill the world with slaughter. Who is she with aspect wild? Angel of this sacred place, Here we watch our brother's sleep; Conquer fortune-persevere !— Brilliants. THE SHORE. Better for man, Were he and Nature more familiar friends! ALEXANDER SMITH. COMFORT IN NATURE. Art sick?-art sad?-art angry with the world? A TEAR. old BARRY CORNWALL. Some feelings are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than heaven; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, MARRIAGE. SIR W. SCOTT. Oh, if there be one hour, which more Than any other craves a parent's presence, 'Tis that which gives his child away from him! She should go with his blessing warm upon her breathed With an attesting kiss; then may she go With perfect hope, and cheerly take with her KNOWLES. |