Forty-two years the Almighty gave me

Plain in their form, but rich they were in power

mind : To aid my sex in nature's trying hour ; Religious, quict, honest, meek, and kind. Through heat and cold, by day, by dreary

Nor do I dislike the lines on Sophia night, To save the hapless was my chief delight;

Bovil, a child of two years

old : My toils are past: my weeping friends, Rest soft thy dust, wait the Almighty's adieu !

will, I'm call’d to Heaven, and hope to welcome Rise with the just, and be an angel still. you.

The following ludicrous verse,
Honest Stephen Rumbold, of Or though none of the happiest, happens
ford, is thus briefly remembered: to be a recent production :
He lived one hundred and five,

Here fast asleep, full six feet deep,
Sanguine and strong ;

And seventy summers ripe,
An hundred to five

George Thomas lies in hopes to rise,
You live not so long.

And smoke another pipe.
In the epitaph on a Marine at Chi-

It was almost one of the last acts chester, the writer has made an

of Horne Tooke to cause a vault to adroit turn from mortal to spiritual be made in his garilen, surmounted warfare. There are many military

by a slab of black marble, for which inscriptions scattered about the country, but few of them are very happy: and caused it to be engraved with

he wrote the following inscription, Here lies a true soldier, whom all must ap directions that his executors should plaud ;

fill ир

the blank: Much hardship he suffer'd at home and

John Horne Tooke, abroad;

late proprietor, now occupier of this spot, But the hardest engagement he ever was in,

born in 1736, died in Was the battle of Self in the conquest of

Contented and grateful. Sin. A soldier died suddenly in Hamp in his own garden was not complied

His singular request to be buried shire from drinking small beer after with : he was interred at Ealing; the a hot march, and this is his epitaph: tomb-stone was removed from the Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire grena- garden, the old inscription effaced, dier,

and its place supplied by an epitaph Who caught his death by drinking cold from another hand. small beer.

In the church-yard of Bayswater, Soldiers, be wise, from his untimely fall; And when you're hot, drink strong, or none

mid-way down the ground on the at all.

left hand, leaning against the wall,

obscured by nettles and rank grass, The following ludicrous addition unnoticed, and perhaps unknown, was made by the officers in garrison stands a rude memorial of common when they restored the decayed mo- rough stone, indebted to no gifted nument:

and cunning hand for beauty of An honest soldier never is forgot, form, and to no elegant mind for the Whether he died by musket or by pot. inscription with which it is covered.

It is the tomb-stone of Laurence An old fisherman of Kent is thus

Sterne. remembered in the church-yard of who are so patriotic, so witty, when

Perhaps his countrymen Hythe:

the wine is good, so affectionate in His net old fisher George long drew, their remembrances, so fond of numShoals upon shoals he caught,

bering Sterne among those steady Till Death came hauling for his due, lights which contribute to the fixed

And made poor George his draught. splendour of Ireland, may reflect, while Death fishes on through various shades ; In vain it is to fret;

they laugh and wonder, and weep over Nor fish or fisherman escapes

his pages, that he sleeps among the Death's all-enclosing net.

vulgar dead, and have the grace to

propose to honour themselves by I like the unassuming epitaph of erecting a monument to his memory. John and Martha Wright;-it says That the noble, the wealthy, the much in small space:

witty, and the gay, left the interment

of Sterne and the erection of his incomparable performances evidently grave-stone, to mechanics and stran- prove him to have acted by rule and gers, is a reproach that can never be square. They rejoice in this opportunity removed.

of perpetuating his high and irreproach

able character to after ages. Near this place lies the body of The Reverend Laurence Sterne, A. M.

What did it boot him, ridiculed, abused, Died Sept. 13, 1768, aged 53 years.

By fools insulted, and by prudes accused ; This monumental stone was erected to the Like him, despise what were a sin to hate,

In him, mild reader, view thy future fate; memory of the deceased by two brother

&c. &c.

w. & s. Masons ; for although he did not live to be a member of their society, yet all his Cumberland, Aug. 1821.




These poems have been much Cependant, s'élançant de la flèche gothique, read and admired in France. The Un son religieux se répand dans les airs, copy that lies before us bears the Le voyageur s'arrête, et la cloche rustique fourth edition on its title-page.

Aux derniers bruits du jour mêle de saints Those that preceded it, we are informed, appeared also in the course Yet lingering on this mountain's woody of last year, and several more have crest, since followed. The author is said The last faint beams of parting twilight to be a very amiable man, who, in rest; his complaints that death has be- And, whitening on the horizon's edge afar, reaved him of the object of his ten- The queen of shadows guides her vapoury derest affections, and that he has been himself on the brink of the Meanwhile, slow-spreading from the gothic grave, does not impose on the com

fane, miseration of his readers by the The pious anthem breathes a holy strain ; recital of imaginary evils. It will, And pausing pilgrim hears the village bell therefore, we trust, not be unwel With day's last murmurs mix its solemn

knell. come information to them, if we add, that he has not only been re

Here he is placed, and employed stored to health, but is fortunate exactly as a young poet of his disenough to be now united to one of position ought to be. But when in our own countrywomen, who has the following meditation, addressed had the discernment to perceive and to Lord Byron, he compares his reward his merit, and that he has Lordship to an eagle launching been sent out as secretary to the forth from the horrible summit of French embassy at Naples.

Mount Athos, and suspending his Whenever, in these « Poetical Me- aerie over the abyss that yawns at ditations," as he calls them, the wri- its side; where, surrounded with ter expresses what appear to be his palpitating limbs, and with rocks own unpremeditated thoughts, and incessantly dripping with black gore, spontaneous feelings, without forcing delighted with the shrieks of his himself into a state of excitement for prey, and, cradled by the tempest, the occasion, he is, for the most part, he falls to sleep in his joy ; very pleasing. In some of his al- L'aigle, roi des déserts, dédaigne ainsi la titudes, it must be owned, we have

plaine ; followed him with much less satisfaction. Thus, in the first poem, where he describes himself seated on Lui, des sommets d'Athos franchit l'horan eminence, at the foot of an old rible cime, oak," watching with wistful gaze Suspend aux flancs des monts son aire sur the setting sun:


Et là, seul, entouré de membres palpitans, Au sommet de ces monts couronnés de bois De rochers d'un sang noir sans cesse désombres,

gouttans, Le crépuscule encor jette un dernier rayon, Trouvant sa volupté dans les cris de sa Et le char vaporeux de la reine des ombres proie, Monte, et blanchit déjales bords de l'horizon. Bercé par la tempête, il s'endort dans sa joie;



and when, not contented with this, Ce qu'on appelle nos beaux jours, and a good deal of the like stuff,” N'est qu'un éclair brillant dans une nuit he perseveres in his compliment to

Et rien, excepté nos amours, the noble bard so far as to put him

N'y mérite un regret du sage; on a par with his Satanic majesty

Mais, que dis-je ? on aime à tout âge himself;

Ce feu durable et doux, dans l'âme ren

fermé, Ton vil, comme Satan, a mesuré l'abyme, Et ton âme, y plongeant loin du jour et de Donne plus de chaleur en jetant moins de

flamme ; Dieu,

C'est le souffle divin dont tout l'homme est A dit à l'espérance un éternel adieu !


Il ne s'éteint qu'avec son âme. ta voix, sur un mode infernal, This is not less philosophically Chante l'hymne de gloire au sombre dieu true, than it is poetically beautiful. du mal ;

In the wish for his friend's happiwe begin to lose all sympathy with ness, which concludes this same the poet, and most heartily wish our

little poem, the writer seems to us selves away from such perilous com- just to have hit that tone to which pany, and safe back again under the the French poetry is best suited. old oak, ready to forswear all illu- Soyez touché, grand Dieu, de sa reconnaissions of the imagination for the future, and to cry out in the most Il ne vous lasse point d'un inutile von ; confined sense of the words,

Gardez-lui seulement sa rustique opulence,

Donnez tout à celui qui vous demande peu. Le yrai seul est beau, le vrai seul est ai.

Des doux objets de sa tendresse, mable.

Qu'à son riant foyer toujours environné, In the third Meditation we are,

Sa femme et ses enfans couronnent sa vieil

lesse, therefore, well satisfied to find ourselves at the side of M. de Lamartine Comme de ses fruits murs un arbre est

couronné: once more, in the silence of an even

Que sous l'or des épis ses collines jaunising landscape : Le soir raméne le silence.

Qu'au pied de son rocher son lac soit touAssis sur ces rochers déserts,

jours pur: Je suis dans la vague des airs

Que de ses beaux jasmins les ombres s'épaiLe char de la nuit qui s'avance :

sissent :

Que son soleil soit doux, que son ciel soit Vénus se lève à l'horizon ;

d'azur: 'A mes pieds l'étoile amoureuse Et que pour l'étranger toujours ses vins De sa lueur mystérieuse

mûrissent. Blanchit les tapis de gazon:

May our lively neighbours on the and so far forget our late resolution Continent long continue to pursue as to fall into a douce rêverie, and the peaceable pleasures which are believe that something in the shape here described ; may strains, as tenof a gentle spirit is, indeed, gliding der and as blameless as these, long to us on a beam of the evening star. add a zest to their enjoyment of But we will not pursue the Medi- them; and now that we are about tator through all his moods and wishing, not to leave ourselves out of musings ; but content ourselves the question, may M. de Lamartine's with observing, that the sixth, en- prayer, that “ their vines may ripen titled “Le Désespoir," is the least to for the stranger," be granted so far our taste, as the tenth, called “ La beyond the limits in which he inRetraite,” is the most so. It is much tended it, that we may be allowed pleasanter to point out beauties than to cheer our own firesides with their faults; and we shall accordingly in- produce, and to send his countrydulge ourselves with making one or men whatever of ours they most two extracts from the latter of these covet (if they think any thing of ours poems.

worth having) in return.

sent :


I was born, and passed the first the now almost effaced sun-dials, seven years of my life, in the Tem- with their moral inscriptions, seemple. Its church, its halls, its gar- ing coevals with that Time which dens, its fountain, its river, I had they measured, and to take their revealmost said ; for in those young years, lations of its flight immediately from what was this king of rivers to me, heaven, holding correspondence with but a stream that watered our plea- the fountain of light ! How would sant places ?-these are of my oldest the dark line steal imperceptibly on, recollections. I repeat, to this day, watched by the eye of childhood, 110 verses to myself more frequently, eager to detect its movement, never or with kindlier emotion, than those catched, nice as an evanescent cloud, of Spenser, where he speaks of this or the first arrests of sleep! spot.

Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand There when they came, whereas those Steal from his figure, and no pace perbricky towers,

ceived ! The which on Themmes brode aged back doth ride,

What a dead thing is a clock, Where now the studious lawyers have their with its ponderous embowelments of bowers,

lead and brass, its pert or solemn dulThere whylome wont the Templer knights ness of communication, compared with to bide,

the simple altar-like structure, and Till they decayd through pride.

silent heart-language of the old dial ! Indeed, it is the most elegant spot It stood as the garden god of Chrisin the metropolis. What a transi- tian gardens. Why is it almost tion for a countryman visiting Lon- everywhere vanished ? If its busidon for the first time—the passing

ness-use be superseded by more from the crowded Strand or Fleet- elaborate inventions, its moral uses, street, by unexpected avenues, into its beauty, might have pleaded for its magnificent ample squares, its its continuance. It spoke of modeclassic green recesses !

What a

rate labours, of pleasures not procheerful, liberal look hath that por- and good hours.

tracted after sun-set, of temperance, tion of it, which, from three sides,

It was the prioverlooks the greater garden: that mitive clock, the horologe of the goodly pile

first world. Adam could scarce have

missed it in Paradise. It was the Of building strong, albeit of Paper hight, measure appropriate for sweet plants confronting, with massy contrast, and flowers to spring by, for the the lighter, older, more fantastically birds to apportion their silver warbshrouded one, named of Harcourt, lings by, for flocks to pasture and with the cheerful Crown-office Row be led to fold by. The shepherd (place of my kindly engendure), right

carved it out quaintly in the sun;" opposite the stately stream, which and, turning philosopher by the very washes the garden-foot with her yet occupation, provided it with mottos scarcely trade-polluted waters, and more touching than tombstones. It seems but just weaned from her was a pretty device of the gardener, Twickenham Naiades! a man would recorded by Marvell, who, in the give something to have been born in days of artificial gardening, made a such places. What a collegiate as

dial out of herbs and flowers. I pect has that fine Elizabethan hall, must quote his verses a little higher where the fountain plays, which í up, for they are full, as all his serihave made to rise and fall, how many ous poetry was, of a witty delicacy. times ! to the astoundment of the They will not come in awkwardly, I young urchins, my contemporaries, hope, in a talk of fountains and sunwho, not being able to guess at its dials. He is speaking of sweet garrecondite machinery, were almost den scenes. tempted to hail the wondrous work What wondrous life in this I lead ! as magic! What an antique air had Ripe apples drop about my head.

The luscious clusters of the vine were grotesque. Are the stiff-wigged Upon my mouth do crush their wine.

living figures, that still flitter and The nectarine, and curious peach, chatter about that area, less gothic Into my hands themselves do reach.

in appearance? or, is the splutter Stumbling on melons, as I pass, of their hot rhetoric one half so reInsnar'd with flowers, I fall on grass. Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less

freshing and innocent, as the little Withdraws into its happiness.

cool playful streams those exploded The mind, that ocean, where each kind cherubs uttered ? Does straight its own resemblance find; They have lately gothicised the Yet it creates, transcending these, entrance to the Inner Temple-hall, Far other worlds, and other seas; and the library front, to assimilate Annihilating all that's made

them, I suppose, to the body of the To a green thought in a green shade. hall, which they do not at all reHere at the fountain's sliding foot, semble. What is become of the Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,

winged horse that stood over the Casting the body's vest aside,

former? a stately arms ! and who has My soul into the boughs does glide :

removed those frescoes of the VirThere, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and claps its silver wings;

tues, which Italianized the end of And, till prepared for longer flight,

the Paper-buildings?-my first hint Waves in its plumes the various light.

of allegory! They must account to How well the skilful gardener drew, me for these things, which I miss so Of flowers and herbs, this dial new ! greatly. Where, from above, the milder sun The terrace is, indeed, left, which Does through a fragrant zodiac run: we used to call the parade; but the And, as it works, the industrious bee

traces are passed away of the footComputes its time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholesome ful! It is become common and pro

steps which made its pavement awhours Be reckond, but with herbs and flow- fane. The old benchers had it al

most sacred to themselves, in the

forepart of the day at least. They The artificial fountains of the me- might not be sided or jostled. Their tropolis are, in like manner, fast air and dress asserted the parade. vanishing. Most of them are dried You left wide spaces betwixt you, up, or bricked over. Yet, where when you passed them. We walk one is left, as in that little green on even terms with their successors. nook behind the South Sea House, The roguish eye of J-ll, ever what a freshness it gives to the ready to be delivered of a jest, aldreary pile ! Four little winged most invites a stranger to vie a remarble boys used to play their vir- partee with it. But what insolent gin fancies, spouting out ever fresh familiar durst have mated Thomas streams from their innocent-wanton Coventry ?-whose person was lips, in the square of Lincoln's-inn, quadrate, his step massy and elewhen I was no bigger than they were phantine, his face square as the figured. They are gone, and the lion's, his gait peremptory and pathspring choked up. The fashion, keeping, indivertible from his way they tell me, is gone by, and these as a moving column, the scarecrow things are esteemed childish. Why of his inferiors, the brow-beater of not then gratify children, by letting equals and superiors, who made a them stand ? Lawyers, I suppose, solitude of children wherever he were children once. They are a- came, for they fled his insufferable wakening images to them at least. presence, as they would have shunned Why must every thing smack of an Elisha bear. His growl was as man, and mannish? Is the world thunder in their ears, whether he all grown up? Is childhood dead? spake to them in mirth or in rebuke, Or, is there not in the bosoms of his invitatory tones being, indeed, of the wisest and the best some of the all, the most repulsive and horrid. child's heart left, to respond to its Clouds of snuff, aggravating the naearliest enchantments? The figures tural terrors of his speech, broke



* From a copy of verses entitled, The Garden.

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