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FEMALE CHARACTERS OF SCRIPTURE.

A SERIES OF SONNETS. BY MRS HEMANS.

Your tents are desolate; your stately steps,
Of all their choral dances have not left
One trace beside the fountains: your full cup
Of gladness, and of trembling, each alike
Is broken: Yet, amidst undying things,
The mind still keeps your loveliness, and still
All the fresh glories of the early world

Hang round you in the spirit's pictured halls,
Never to change!

INVOCATION.

As the tired voyager on stormy seas

Invokes the coming of bright birds from shore, To waft him tidings, with the gentler breeze,

Of dim sweet woods that hear no billows roar : So from the depth of days, when Earth yet wore Her solemn beauty, and primeval dew,

I call you, gracious forms! Oh! come, restore
Awhile that holy freshness, and renew

Life's morning dreams. Come with the voice, the lyre,
Daughters of Judah! with the timbrel rise!

Ye of the dark prophetic eastern eyes,

Imperial in their visionary fire;

Oh! steep my soul in that old glorious time,

When God's own whisper shook the cedars of your clime!

INVOCATION CONTINUED.

AND come, ye faithful! round Messiah seen,
With a soft harmony of tears and light
Streaming through all your spiritual mien,

As in calm clouds of pearly stillness bright

Showers weave with sunshine, and transpierce their slight Ethereal cradle.-From your heart subdued

All haughty dreams of Power had wing'd their flight,

And left high place for Martyr-fortitude,

True Faith, long-suffering Love.-Come to me, come!
And, as the seas beneath your Master's tread
Fell into crystal smoothness, round him spread
Like the clear pavement of his heavenly home;
So in your presence, let the Soul's great deep
Sink to the gentleness of infant sleep.

THE SONG OF MIRIAM.

A SONG for Israel's God !-Spear, crest, and helm,
Lay by the billows of the old Red Sea,
When Miriam's voice o'er that sepulchral realm
Sent on the blast a hymn of jubilee;

With her lit eye, and long hair floating free,
Queen-like she stood, and glorious was the strain,
Ev'n as instinct with the tempestuous glee
Of the dark waters, tossing o'er the slain.

A song for God's own Victory!--Oh, thy lays,
Bright Poesy! were holy in their birth :-
How hath it died, thy seraph note of praise,
In the bewildering melodies of Earth!
Return from troubling bitter founts; return
Back to the life-springs of thy native urn!

RUTH.

The plume-like swaying of the auburn corn,
By soft winds to a dreamy motion fann'd,
Still brings me back thine image-Oh! forlorn,
Yet not forsaken, Ruth!-I see thee stand
Lone, midst the gladness of the harvest-band,—
Lone as a wood-bird on the ocean's foam,
Fall'n in its weariness. Thy fatherland
Smiles far away! yet to the Sense of Home,
That finest, purest, which can recognise
Home in affection's glance, for ever true
Beats thy calm heart; and if thy gentle eyes
Gleam tremulous through tears, 'tis not to rue
Those words, immortal in their deep Love's tone,
Thy people and thy God shall be mine own!"

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THE VIGIL Of Rizpah.

"And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest, until water dropped upon them out of heaven; and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night."-2 Sam. xxi. 10.

Who watches on the mountain with the dead,
Alone before the awfulness of night?
-A Seer awaiting the deep Spirit's might?
A Warrior guarding some dark pass of dread?

No, a lorn Woman!-On her drooping head,
Once proudly graceful, heavy beats the rain;
She recks not,-living for the unburied slain,
Only to scare the vulture from their bed.

So, night by night, her vigil hath she kept
With the pale stars, and with the dews hath wept;—
Oh! surely some bright Presence from above
On those wild rocks the lonely one must aid!—
E'en so; a strengthener through all storm and shade,
Th' unconquerable Angel, mightiest Love!

THE REPLY OF THE SHUNAMITE WOMAN.

"And she answered, I dwell among mine own people."-2 Kings, iv. 13.

"I dwell among mine own,"-Oh! happy thou!
Not for the sunny clusters of the vine,

Nor for the olives on the mountain's brow;

Nor the flocks wandering by the flowery line

Of streams, that make the green land where they shine

Laugh to the light of waters :-not for these,

Nor the soft shadow of ancestral trees,

Whose kindly whisper floats o'er thee and thine;

Oh! not for these I call thee richly blest,

But for the meekness of thy woman's breast,

Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies:
And for thy holy household love, which clings
Unto all ancient and familiar things,

Weaving from each some link for Home's dear Charities.

LYRICS OF THE EAST. BY MRS GODWIN,

No. V.

DYING REQUEST OF A HINDU GIRL.
KEEP, dear friends, when I am dead,
And green moss above my head,
Cherish with your tender care
My fond birds and blossoms fair.
Mother, father, sisters three,
Cherish them for love of me.

Azla, for my spotted fawn,
Gather leaves at early dawn:
Anasûya, in thy breast,

Let my playful lorie rest.

Gently round my lonely bower,

Train yon Camalata flower.

Mora, to thy care I leave

Flowers that shed their sweets at eve,

And all timid birds that tune

Melodies beneath the moon.

Thou, sweet sister, art like them,
Born the pensive shades to gem.

Keep, my friends, when I'm no more,
In your hearts the looks I wore;
Let my memory haunt these bowers,
Shrined in birds and fragrant flowers,-
Mother, sisters, sire, to you
Amra breathes a last adieu.

No. VI.

THE RUINED FOUNTAIN.

Flow on, limpid fountain, though deserts surround thee,

Thy waters sweet melody have;

Though the weeds of neglect in their cold arms have bound thee, And birds dip their wings in thy wave.

Thy marble so bright through the dank moss betrayeth

A gleam of thy destiny gone,

But the clear wave hath ruin'd the urn where it playeth,
And still in its glory rolls on.

It may be, thy music, in ages departed,

The proud Courts of royalty cheer'd,

While shapes of the lovely, the brave, the light-hearted,
All glass'd in thy waters appear'd.

But now, of the grandeur that was, not a token
Remains to adorn thy decay;

Like a wreath of wan vapour the breeze hath just broken,
The vision hath melted away.

Thou only art spared, even as virtue endureth,

When pride, wealth, and beauty decline,

For the life that dwells deep in thy centre ensureth
A power that for aye shall be thine.

Lone fount of the wilderness! broken and slighted!
Thou teem'st with adversity's lore!

Oh! how many like me in thy flow have delighted,
Whose eyes may behold thee no more!

VOL. XXXIII. NO. CCVII.

2 Q

Aberdeen.

MY GRAVE.

FAR from the city's ceaseless hum,
Hither let my relics come;—
Lowly and lonely be my grave,
Fast by this streamlet's oozing wave,
Still to the gentle angler dear,
And heaven's fair face reflecting clear.
No rank luxuriance from the dead
Draw the green turf above my head,
But cowslips, here and there, be found,
Sweet natives of the hallowed ground,
Diffusing Nature's incense round!
Kindly sloping to the sun,

When his course is nearly run,
Let it catch his farewell beams,
Brief and pale, as best beseems;
But let the melancholy yew
(Still to the cemetery true)
Defend it from his noonday ray,
Debarring visitant so gay;
And when the robin's fitful song
Is hush'd the darkling boughs among,
There let the spirit of the wind
A Heaven-rear'd tabernacle find
To warble wild a vesper hymn,

To soothe my shade at twilight dim!
Seldom let feet of man be there

Save bending towards the house of prayer;
Few human sounds disturb the calm,

Save words of grace or solemn psalm!
Yet would I not my humble tomb
Should wear an uninviting gloom,
As if there seem'd to hover near,
In fancy's ken, a thing of fear;
And view'd with superstitious awe,
Be duly shunn'd, and scarcely draw
The sidelong glance of passer by,
As haunt of sprite with blasting eye;
Or noted be by some sad token,
Bearing a name in whispers spoken!
No!-let the thoughtful schoolboy stray
Far from his giddy mates at play,
My secret place of rest explore,
There pore on page of classic lore:-
Thither let hoary men of age
Perform a pensive pilgrimage,
And think, as o'er my turf they bend,
It woos them to their welcome end:
And let the woe-worn wand'ring one,
Blind to the rays of reason's sun,
Thither his weary way incline,
There catch a gleam of light divine;
But, chiefly, let the friend sincere
There drop a tributary tear,

There pause, in musing mood, and all
Our bygone hours of bliss recall;
Delightful hours! too fleetly flown!
By the heart's pulses only known!

R****y.

EDMUND BURKE.

PART II.

THE death of George II., in 1760, closed one of the most successful reigns of England. At home, the popularity of the Stuarts, first broken down on the field of battle, had been extinguished on the scaffold; abroad, the continental hostilities, often threatening the overthrow of British influence, had closed in a series of encounters which gave the last honours to the British military name. The capture of Calcutta by Clive, in 1757, had laid the foundations of an empire in India. The successes of Amherst and Johnson at Crown-Point and Niagara, followed by the capture of Quebec in 1759, had completed the conquest of Canada, and laid, in a country almost boundless, the foundations of a western empire. To complete the picture of triumph, the victory of Hawke in Quiberon Bay, had destroyed the chief fleet of France within sight of her own shore. In the midst of all those prospects of national prosperity, the old King suddenly died, at the age of seventy-seven, after a reign of thirtythree years. The King's character had been fitted for the time. He was a firm, temperate, and sincere man, steady to the possession of his power, but unambitious of its in crease; not forgetting his natural ties to the place of his birth, but honest to the obligations of his throne, -attached to Hanover, but proud of England. History has now passed sentence upon him, and it will not be reversed by time. "On whatever side," says a narrator of his reign, we look upon the character of George II., we shall find ample matter for just and unsuspected praise. None of his predecessors enjoyed longer felicity. His subjects were still improving under him in commerce and arts; and his own economy set a prudent example to the nation, which, however, they did not follow. He was in temper sudden and violent; but this, though it influenced his private conduct, made no change in his public, which was generally guided by reason. He was plain and direct in his inten

tions, true to his word, steady in his favour and protection to his public servants, not parting with his Ministers till compelled by the force of faction." If to this we add, that, through his whole life, he appeared to live for the cultivation rather of useful public virtues than of splendid ones, we shall have a character which might well and worthily sustain the functions of British royalty. He might not attract popular admiration, nor be a pillow for personal friendship to repose on. He might

be neither an Alfred nor a Charles II. But he might, and did, conduct manfully, with integrity, and in the spirit of the Constitution, a constitutional empire. The great Minister of his latter day was Lord Chatham —a splendid innovation on the routine of ministry. A new political star, which had shot down to give new energy to the state, and throw sudden brightness over the decaying system of the Newcastle Administration. Chatham was the Premier on the accession of George III.; but his power was not of a nature to last. His personal haughtiness had grown by success until it alienated his friends, and, finally, estranged his sovereign. A division in the Cabinet on the question of a Spanish war, shewed him that his dictatorship was at an end, and arrogantly, to be less than the embodied ministry, he threw up the seals. His successor, Lord Bute, was overthrown in his turn by three causes, each of which at other times would have led the way to fortune,-the favour of his King, the favouritism of the King's mother, and his being a Scotsman. The rapid succession of ministerial changes which, subsequently, for some years left England with but the name of a government, had the disastrous effect of teaching the people to look with scorn upon ministerial ambition. When public men trafficked alternately with the necessities of the King and the passions of the people, the nation soon learned to consider office as a trade. All revolutions are tests of character;

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