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Expectant stood. On the left, dark demons

Longing to grasp their prey, and mock, and curse, Another being, ever doomed to share,

Their own unutterable agonies!

There, a bright band, waiting to strike their harps To hail another saint to endless life.

I heard the irrevocable sentence !
"Twas just instant the never-dying worm
Of keen remorse, struck his deep-gnawing fangs
Within my tortured bosom; then the flame
Of unextinguishable suffering

Intensely burnt around-upon-within ;
And, at that moment, the bright seraph band,
Shrouded from my sight, was gone for ever!
Oh! as it passed away, and the dark veil
Of everlasting blackness drew around,
I heard the enchanting, blissful harmony
Of those, who soared to happier regions!
Music! sweeter than the exquisite tones
Produced on earth-but each enthrilling note
Vibrated on my ear, with piercing pangs
Damned spirits only feel.




Oh say not that my heart is cold

To aught that once could warm itThat nature's form so dear of old

No more has power to charm it;
Or that the ungenerous world can chill
One glow of fond emotion

For those who made it dearer still,
And shared my wild devotion.


Still oft those solemn scenes I view,
In rapt and dreaming sadness;
Oft look on those who loved them too,
With fancy's idle gladness;
Again I longed to view the light

In nature's features glowing;
Again to tread the mountain's height
And taste the soul's o'erflowing.


Stern duty rose, and frowning flung
His leaden chain around me ;
With iron look and sullen tongue

He muttered as he bound me-
'The mountain breeze, the boundless heaven,
Unfit for toil the creature ;
These for the free alone are given,-
But what have slaves with nature?'

Rev. C. Wolfe.



my love has an eye of the softest blue, Yet it was not that, that won me ;

But a little bright drop from her soul was there— 'Tis that, that has undone me.

I might have passed that lovely cheek,

Nor, perchance, my heart have left me ; But the sensitive blush that came trembling there, Of my heart it for ever bereft me.

I might have forgotten that red, red lip

Yet how from the thought to sever?
But there was a smile from the sunshine within,
And that smile I'll remember for ever.

Think not 'tis nothing but lifeless clay,
The elegant form that haunts me
'Tis the gracefully delicate mind that moves.
In every step, that enchants me.

Let me, not hear the nightingale sing,

Though I once in its notes delighted;

The feeling and mind that comes whispering forth,
Has left me no music beside it.

Who could blame, had I loved that face,
Ere my eye could twice explore her?
Yet it is for the fairy intelligence there,
And her warm-warm heart, I adore her.
Rev. C. Wolfe.


Darwent! what scenes thy wandering waves behold, As bursting from thy hundred springs they stray,

And down those vales in sounding torrents rolled,
Seek to the shining east their mazy way?

Here thy dark alders leaning from the cliff
Dip their long arms, and wave their umbrage wide;
There, as emerging rocks alarm my skiff,
White moonlight dances on thy foaming tide.

Flow on, ye waves! where dressed in gorgeous pride,
Fair Chatsworth beams amidst her roseate bowers;
Spreads her smooth lawns along your willowy side,
And crests your woodlands with her gilded towers.
Flow on, ye waves! where nature's rudest child,
Frowning incumbent o'er the dusky floods,
Rock reared on rock, on mountain mountain piled,
Old Matlock sits, and shakes his crown of woods.
But when proud Derby's glittering vanes ye view,
When his gay maids your sparkling currents drink,
Should bright Eliza press the morning dew
And bend her graceful footsteps to your brink,

Stop, gentle waves! in circling eddies play,
And as your scaly squadrons play around,
O bid your nymphs with pencil fine pourtray
Her angel form upon your silver ground.

With playful malice from her kindled cheeks,
Steal the warm blush and tinge your passing stream,
Mock the sweet transient dimples as she speaks,
And as she turns her eye, reflect the beam.

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