And for the past day's little errors More pure e'en than smiles without sin, By the dear little forms, one by one, Some in beds closely coupled half sleeping, While the cribb'd infant nestled aloneWhose heads at my coming all peeping, Betrayed that the pulse of each heart Of my feet's stealing fall knew the speech; While all would not let me depart, Till the kiss was bestowed upon each; By the boy who, when walking and musing A churl so malign and hard-hearted,) Were ye not as the rays that are twinkling On the waves of some clear haunted stream? Were ye not as the stars that are sprinkling Night's firmament, dark without them? My forebodings then hear! By each one Of the dear dreams through which I have travelled, The cup of enjoyment from none Can I take, till the spells, one by one, Which have withered ye all, be unravelled. ADDRESS TO THE GENIUS OF SHAKSPEARE. This is decidedly superior to any ode of Akenside's, and had it appeared among the works of Collins, few persons would have suspected it to be spurious. It is, unquestionably, a very beautiful, though not a faultless poem. The last three lines are objectionable, whether in point of sentiment or merely of phraseology, we will not decide. When first thine eyes beheld the light And Nature bursting on thy sight, Poured on thy beating heart a kindred day: GENIUS, the fire-eyed child of Fame "Thee, darling Boy! I give to know Each form that freezes sense to stone, Each phantom of the world unknown, Shall fit before thine eyes, and waken thoughts untold. "The bent of purpose unavowed; Of Hopes and Fears the wildering crowd; The excess of bliss and agony Shall oft alternate seize thy high attempered mind. "Oft in the moody summer vale, When Evening breathes her balmy gale, The clouds with richer radiance shine, Yellowing the dark tops of the mountain grove. "There Love's warm hopes thy breast shall fill, Prepare for Love's delicious ecstasy; Thy prostrate mind shall sink subdued, While in a strange fantastic mood, The wild power fires thy veins and mantles in thine eye! "For know, where'er my influence dwells, And wakes each latent energy of soul; Indifference, of the marble mien, Shall ne'er with lazy spells be seen, To quench th' immortal wish that aims perfections goal. "These shalt thou burst, whate'er it be That manacles mortality, And range through scenes by fleshly feet untrod; Shail bid futurity be nigh, And with mysterious power approximate to God." CHILDHOOD. In a child's voice, is there not melody? Calm, though impassioned; durable, though keen! To whom still cleave Heaven's atmosphere serene; And more the music of the warbling throats Born from a perfect harmony of power and will. OTHELLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS COURTSHIP. Her father lov'd me-oft got drunk with me, Captain, (he'd cry,) come tell us your adventures, From year to year, the scrapes, intrigues, and frolics, I ran them through, from the day I first wore scarlet Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances Of hair-breadth 'scapes from drunken frays in taverns, Of being taken by the insolent foe, and lodged in the watch-house, Of my redemption thence, with all my gallantry at country quar ters. When of rope-ladders and of garret windows- His daughter Prue would from a corner lean, Which when she'd done, and cleanly lick'd the spoon, Once seiz❜d a lucky hour, and entertained her She gave me for my pains a gloating look: She swore, ecod 'twas strange, 'twas woundy strange, 'Twas comical, 'twas hugely comical; "I' fags, you officers are vicked creatures," You are so comical and entertaining, I like a soldier." On the hint I spoke. A NEW PROLOGUE TO "THE POINT OF HONOUR.” FOR THE PORT FOLIO. "The Point of Honour! what a pretty name!" While Fancy roams abroad on airy wing, "Tis Satire surely-some mischievous poet, * Has mark'd our folly and would let us know it. "When I was young-if I remember right, "The point of honour was to be polite, "To act with due decorum, and to speak "With staid demeanour, and with accent meek; "No flippant miss then dar'd the public gaze, "And she who carried most, was most a belle; "Then so discreet their conduct too appear'd,"For pretty maidens then were seen, not heard, "The beaux too, then their wigs and small-swords sported, "Ah! men were men indeed, when I was courted! "The Point of Honour!" cries a dashing blade, "An author teach a gentleman his trade! Why curse his impudence! the knave no doubt "Would teach us how to call each other out, The younger ladies sit in glad surprise,— (I think I see it dancing in their eyes,) |