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How strikingly different is this from the love catastrophes in general ! But here is a contrast, a perfectly radiant portrait, a being of gay delight and meditative feeling, a perfectly original union of qualities, and yet a union to be realized
She shall be sportive as the Fawn
Of mute insensate things. We could easily form a gallery of female characters out of Wordsworth's poems; but, at present, we must give only one other portrait, as fine a contrast to the last, as that was to the preceding one :
Many a passenger
Might live on earth a life of happiness. Akin to his portraiture of the female character, is his treatment of the passion of love. He makes it the sweetening influence, not the engrossing business of life,-a principle that it is to sustain and elevate the soul, to strengthen, not enervate its powers of endurance and self-government; rarely therefore does he describe the passion as driven to excess, or terminating in guilt and misery. He is the very antipodes of an amatory poet;
The depth and not the tumult of the soul is most in unison with his feelings; and to his love-poetry might be applied his own line in Laodemia,' descriptive of the world of spirits
Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains. But admitting that the serenity of his genius somewhat unfits him for describing the early stages of love, or the enthusiasm of youthful lovers, in his delineations of filial, maternal, or conjugal affection, he is unrivalled. It would be injustice to the matchless poems now in our mind's eye to give any patchwork extracts. Let the reader who may happen to be unacquainted with them, turn to the episodes of Margaret' and · Ellen,' in the first and sixth books of the Excursion; and, amongst the miscellaneous poems, to Laodamia,' • The affliction of Margaret,' The Brothers,' and . Michael.' For the present we must desist—we have far exceeded our limits, and must defer till next month our concluding remarks on this subject.
REMEMBER me when summer friends surround thee,
And honied flatteries win thy willing ear;
And all is thine thy fickle heart liolds dear.
When hope was dark and faithful friends were few,
11. Remember me in courtly hall and bower,
And when thou kneel'st at some proud beauty's shrine, Ask of the past, if through life's varying hour,
Its joys, and griefs, her love can rival mine! And when thy youthful hopes are most excited,
Should she prove false and break her faith like thee, Think of the hopes thy wayward love hath blighted, And from that lesson learn to feel for me!
u. Remember me, and oh! when fate hath 'reft thee,
Of fame and fortune, friends, and love, and bliss, Come back to one, thou know'st would ne'er have left thee,
And she'll but chide thy falsehood with a kiss !
That what I was I never more can be ;
Where there is rest for even a wretch like me.
Remember me! thou canst not sure refuse me
The only boon from thee I've sought, or seek ; Soon will the world with bitter taunts accuse me,
Yet wake no blushes on my bloodless cheek! But I would have thee tender to my fame,
When I have 'scaped life's dark tumultuous sea; And, howsoever unkinder spirits blame,
As what thou know'st I was REMEMBER ME!
A. A. W.
THE VILLAGE DISPENSARY.
" Then marry,
And conning how they best may paint their pains.
And used to labour?' Ay, from morn till night.' · Fond of strong beer, too ?' • Mainly drink three quarts.'
Marry! I wonder not then at your pains ; 'But take you this ; an' it stir not your ribs, Why then there is no virtue left in rhubarb. Begone! and see me our next public day. • Come--for the next. Who's here? Eh, damsel Alice, “And not well yet? No, Sir, my old complaints, Tremblings, heart-burnings, want of sleep at night, Failure of appetite, and loss of spirits.' • Turn round your face; why, ay, thou lookest pale ; • Hast thou a sweetheart?' La, Sir!' Nay, confess it.' There's Harry. 'Ay, he keeps your company, Does he not?' 'Yes.'
and be well.'
gave me store of drugs,
They find you ailing, and they make you ill, " Then all their study is to keep you so; * Until your veins and stores be emptied out; * Bloodless your body,-pennyless your pocket,-" Which wrought, they send you for our gratis aid,
And leave us to undo what they have done. “So will it ever be, while they have sufferance To act the Leech's part who are his servants. They needs must' vend their drugs' and make occasion For their expenditure,—'tis their only gain. Why do not our grave lawgivers ordain These traders to their place ;-their gallipots, “Their drugs, their philtres, and their pharmacy? 'Nor let them traffic thus with life and health, Marring their practice who could else mar them.
Begone! Take no more plıysic, make good meals, * Keep yourself warm, live temperately, duly
Avoid the ‘Poticar',then soon you'll want ‘No aid but what the cupboard can afford.
Shut to the doors, I'll hear no more to day ; “ Throw physic to the dogs,-for I am sick on't."
THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL.
The muffled drum beats drear and deep,-
From warriors' eyes unused to weep.
The banners droop above the brave;
Thrice rolls in thunder o'er his grave.
Life's fitful fever passed away,
And trump and drum are mute for aye.
One mourner o'er its lonely bier,
His memory brighten in her tear !
The voice of reckless mirth to quell;
Whose accents weep so wildly well.
Can thoughts like these a balm instil.---
To lull—to soothe its cureless ill ?
On days and dreams for ever fled,
The loved—the lost the silent dead.
The themes that make its pangs the less ;-
With cold and dull forgetfulness ?
Prove solace to the bosom's pain ?--
Because, alas ! it flows in vain.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
In her wanderings had startled my sight,
Might bespeak thee a creature of light:
Might have dreamed that such beauty might be ;
That radiance of beauty in thee!
As he bends when day's brightness is o'er,
Yet scarce knows what it is that illumines the skies,
So I to the girl I adore !
Where the home thou adornest might be;
And I knew that the cause was in thee!
Some part of each charm that thou hast,
And lives when their glances are past :
With that name, too, enwoven should be,
Because 'twas expressive of thee !
When I met thee, as fair as the dew,
But refresh it and purify too;
May not stoop meaner objects to see,
BY MRS. HENRY ROLLS.
How lovely in the glowing west
Appears yon rich declining gleams,
Is poured that deep broad golden beam !
The wood-lark's sweetly melting lay,
The last farewell to parting day!
As through the woodland dell he flies;
The Woodbine with the Violet vies !
In fair Iberia's scorching clime;
By noon-tide's fiercely burning prime!
More sweet than Zephyr's sweetest sigh,
More tempting than the fruit's rich dye,
But never hoped to bless again;
Can whisper all its lonely pain,