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Till sympathetic drops unbidden start,
LoRD THURL ow.
on BEHolding Bodlha M CAstle, on THE BANK OF THE Rother, 1N sussex.
Oh thou, brave ruin of the passed time,
The owl now haunts thee, and oblivion's plant, The creeping ivy, has o'er-veil'd thy towers;
And Rother, looking up with eye askant, Recalling to his mind thy brighter hours,
Laments the time when, fair and elegant, Beauty first laugh’d from out thy joyous bowers!
SLEEP breathes at last from out thee,
And balmy rest about thee
I sit me down, and think
That I had less to praise.
Thy sidelong pillow'd meekness,
Thy heart, in pain and weakness,
The little trembling hand
Dread memories for years.
Sorrows I’ve had, severe ones,
And calmly, mid my dear ones,
But when thy fingers press
The tears are in their bed.
Ah, first-born of thy mother,
Kind playmate of thy brother,
My light where’er I go,
My prayers shall hold thee round.
To say, “He has departed,”
- Yes, still he's fix’d and sleeping !
This silence, too, the while—
Seems going by one’s ear,
Like parting wings of Cherubim,
CHARLEs DIBD IN. 1745–1814.
ToM Bow LING.
HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, .
No more .# hear the tempest howling,
His form was of the manliest beauty,
Faithful below he did his duty,
Tom never from his word departed,
His friends were many and true-hearted,
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
Shall give, to call life's crew together,
Thus death, who kings and tars despatches,
For, though his body's under hatches,
Rob ERT South Ey.
How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of Heaven: In full-orb’d glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths. Beneath her steady ray The desert-circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night!
Who at this untimely hour
The mother and her child,
Where'er his eye could reach, Fair structures, rainbow-hued, arose; And rich pavilions through the opening woods Gleam'd from their waving curtains sunny gold; And winding through the verdant vale Flow'd streams of liquid light; And fluted cypresses rear'd up Their living obelisks; And broad-leaved plane-trees in long colonnades O'er-arched delightful walks, Where round their trunks the thousand-tendrill'd vine Wound up and hung the boughs with greener wreaths, And clusters not their own. Wearied with endless beauty, did his eyes Return for rest! beside him teems the earth With tulips, like the ruddy evening streak'd; And here the lily hangs her head of snow; And here, amid her sable cup, Shines the red eye-spot, like one brightest star, The solitary twinkler of the night; And here the rose expands Her paradise of leaves.
Then on his ear what sounds