This scene he chose, this scene assign'd
A parent's first embrace to wait,
And many a soft fear fill'd his mind,
Anxious for his fond letter's fate.

The hand that bore those lines of love,
The well-informing bracelet bore-
Ah! may they not unprosperous prove!
Ah! safely pass yon dangerous door!
XXVIII.

"She comes not;-can she then delay?" Cried the fair youth, and dropt a tear"Whatever filial love could say,

"To her I said, and call'd her dear.

"She comes-Oh! no-encircled round, "'Tis some rude chief with many a spear. "My hapless tale that earl has found"Ah me! my heart!-for her I fear."

His tender tale that earl had read,
Or ere it reach'd his lady's eye;
His dark brow wears a cloud of red,
In rage he deems a rival nigh.

ΧΧΙΧ.

'Tis o'er-those locks that wav'd in gold,
That wav'd adown those cheeks so fair,
Wreath'd in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the sever'd head in air!

That streaming head he joys to bear
In horrid guise to Lothian's halls;
Bids his grim ruffians place it there,
Erect upon the frowning walls.

The fatal tokens forth he drew-
"Know'st thou these-Ellen of the vale?""
The pictur'd bracelet soon she knew,
And soon her lovely cheek grew pale.

The trembling victim straight he led,
Ere yet her soul's first fear was o'er:
He pointed to the ghastly head-
She saw and sunk to rise no more.

THOMAS PENROSE.

BORN 1743. DIED 1779.

THE history of Penrose displays a dash of warlike adventure, which has seldom enlivened the biography of our poets., He was not led to the profession of arms, like Gascoigne, by his poverty, or like Quarles, Davenant, and Waller, by political circumStances; but, in a mere fit of juvenile ardour, gave up his studies at Oxford, where he was preparing to become a clergyman, and left the banners of the church for those of the battle. This was in the summer of 1762, when the unfortunate expedition against Buenos Ayres, sailed under the command of Captain Macnamara. It consisted of three ships: the Lord Clive, of 64 guns; the Ambuscade of 40, on board of which Penrose acted as lieutenant of marines; the Gloria, of 38; and some inferior vessels. Preparatory to an attack on Buenos Ayres, it was deemed necessary to begin with the capture of Nova Colonia, and the ships approached closely to the fortress of that settlement. The men were in high spirits; military music sounded on board; while the new uniforms, and polished arms of the marines, gave a splendid appearance to the scene. Penrose, the night before, had written and dispatched to his mistress in England, a poetical address, which evinced at once the affection and serenity of his heart, on the eve of danger. The gay preparative was followed by a heavy fire of several hours, at the end of which, when the Spanish batteries were almost silenced, and our countrymen in immediate expectation of seeing the enemy strike his colours, the Lord Clive was found to be on fire; and the same moment which discovered the flames, shewed the impossibility of extinguishing them. A dreadful spectacle was then exhibited. Men, who had, the instant before, assured themselves of wealth and conquest, were seen crowding to the sides of the ship, with the dreadful alternative of perishing by fire or water. The enemy's fire was redoubled at the sight of their calamity. Out of Macnamara's crew,

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of 340 men, only 78 were saved. Penrose escaped with his life on board the Ambuscade, but received a wound in the action; and the subsequent hardships which he underwent, in a prize-sloop, in which he was stationed, ruined the strength of his constitution. He returned to England; resumed his studies at Oxford; and having taken orders, accepted of the curacy of Newbury, in Berkshire, of which his father was the rector. He resided there for nine years, having married the lady already alluded to, whose name was Slocock. A friend at last rescued him from this obscure situation, by presenting him with the rectory of Beckington and Standerwick, in Somersetshire, worth about £500 a year. But he came to his preferment too late to enjoy it. His health having never recovered from the shock of his American service, obliged him, as a last remedy, to try the hot wells at Bristol, at which place he expired, in his thirty-sixth year.

THE HELMETS.

A FRAGMENT.

-'Twas midnight-every mortal eye was clos'd
Thro' the whole mansion-save an antique crone's,
That o'er the dying embers faintly watch'd
The broken sleep (fell harbinger of death)
Of a sick boteler. - Above indeed
In a drear gall'ry (lighted by one lamp
Whose wick the poor departing Seneschal

Did closely imitate), pac'd slow and sad
The village curate, waiting late to shrive
The penitent when 'wake. Scarce show'd the ray
To fancy's eye, the pourtray'd characters
That grac'd the wall-On this and t'other side
Suspended, nodded o'er the steepy stair,
In many a trophy form'd, the knightly group
Of helms and targets, gauntlets, maces strong,
And horses' furniture-brave monuments
Of ancient chivalry. Through the stain'd pane
Low gleam'd the moon-not bright-but of such

pow'r

As mark'd the clouds, black, threat'ning over head,
Full mischief-fraught; from these in many a peal
Growl'd the near thunder-flash'd the frequent blaze
Of lightning blue. While round the fretted dome
The wind sung surly: with unusual clank
The armour shook tremendous: - On a couch
Plac'd in the oriel, sunk the churchman down:
For who, alone, at that dread hour of night,
Could bear portentous prodigy?-

" I hear it," cries the proudly gilded casque (Fill'd by the soul of one, who erst took joy In slaught'rous deeds) " I hear amidst the gale "The hostile spirit shouting-once-once more "In the thick harvest of the spears we'll shine"There will be work anon."

-"I'm 'waken'd too,"

Replied the sable helmet (tenanted
By a like inmate) " Hark!-I hear the voice

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