⚫ me, which confirm the same doctrine, even to demonstration, as if health remains I purpose to explain.
Being fully convinced that these Rules and Regulations, might save many lives, and preserve the lower orders of people
from great wretchedness, I anxiously request that they may be copied by Editors of Newspapers, and other periodical publications, which, by the general diffusion of knowledge, are become so highly useful and honourable to this age and nation.
ES-Britain mourns; as with electric touch
For youth, for love, for happiness destroyed,
Her universal population melts
In grief spontaneous, and hard hearts are moved,
And rough unpolished natures learn to feel
For those they envied levelled in the dust
By Fate's impartial stroke, and pulpits sound
With vanity and woe to earthly goods,
And urge and dry the tear.-Yet one there is
Who 'midst this general burst of grief remains
In strange tranquillity. Whom not the stir
And long-drawn murmurs of the gathering crowd,
That by his very windows trail the pomp
Of hearse, and blazoned arms, and long array
Of sad funereal rites, nor the loud groans,
And deep-felt anguish of a husband's heart,
Can move to mingle with this flood one tear.
In careless apathy, perhaps in mirth,
He wears the day. Yet is he near in blood,
The very stem on which this blossom grew,
And at his knees she fondled in the charm,
And grace spontaneous, which alone belongs
To untaught infancy.-Yet oh forbear,
Nor deem him hard of heart; for, awful, struck
By heaven's severest visitation, sad,
Like a scathed oak amidst the forest trees,
Lonely he stands; leaves bud, and shoot, and fall;
He holds no sympathy with living nature,
Or time's incessant change. Then in this hour,
While pensive thought is busy with the woes
And restless change of poor humanity,
Think then, oh think of him, and breathe one prayer,
From the full tide of sorrow spare one tear,
For him who does not weep.
FROM A SELECTION OF IRISH MELODIES.
I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came, when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone!
Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave that we danc'd on at morning ebbs from us, And leaves us at eve on the bleak shore alone.
Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning
The close of our day, the calm eve of our night;—
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning,
Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light.
Oh! who would not welcome that moment's returning,
When passion first wak'd a new life thro' his frame,
And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning,
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame.
DEAR Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,
When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom and song!
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;
But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That e'en in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers,
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine;
Go,-sleep, with the sun-shine of fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own.
AS slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still look'd back
To that dear isle 'twas leaving.
So loth we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,
To those we 've left behind us.
When round the bowl of vanish'd years
We talk with joyous seeming,
And smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
When mem'ry brings us back again
Each early tie that twin'd us;
Oh! sweet's the cup that circles then
To those we 've left behind us.
And when in other climes we meet
Some isle, or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flow'ry, wild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss,
If heav'n had but assigned us
To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we 've left behind us.
As trav'llers oft look back at eve
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave
Still faint behind them glowing,-
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray,
Of joy that's left behind us.
WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes,
All fill'd with hope and joy and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise
To dim a heav'n so purely bright,—
I sigh to think how soon that brow
In grief may lose its ev'ry ray,
And that light heart, so joyous now,
Almost forget it once was gay.
For Time will come with all his blights,
The ruin'd hope, the friend unkind,
And Love, who leaves, where'er he lights,
A chill'd or burning heart behind.
And youth, that like pure snow appears,
E're sullied by the dark'ning rain,
When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears,
Will never shine so bright again.
JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN.
IF ever lot was prosperously cast,
If ever life was like the length'ned flow
Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last,
'Twas his, who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below.
The sunny temper, bright where all is strife,
The simple heart that mocks at worldly wiles,
Light wit, that plays along the calm of life:
And stirs its languid surface into smiles;
Pure Charity, that comes not in a shower,
Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds;
But like the dew, with gradual silent power,
Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads;
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