FUGITIVE POETRY.

Antonia; a Poem. By Murdo Young. || made its appearance in the city of La Va12mo. Longman and Co.

consequence of this necessary precaution seemed to be, that the disease abated considerably, and very nearly ceased to exist. But while the rigour of quarantine was relaxing, and the intercourse of business renewing, the plague suddenly re-appeared. About the middle of summer the plague became so deadly, that the number of its victims increased to an alarming degree, from fifty to seventy-five daily; the number falling sick was equal, indeed greater. Such was the printed report of the Board of Health. In autumn the plague unexpectedly declined, and business began partly to revive. The rains of December, and the cold breezes of January, dispelled the remains of the plague in La Valette; but it existed for some months longer in the villages. The disease, which was supposed to have originated from putrid vegetables, and other matter, peculiarly affected the natives. There were only twelve deaths of British residents during its existence in the island; and these deaths were ascertained to have followed from other and indubitable causes. Cleanliness was found to be the best preventive against the power of the disease, the ravages of which were greater in the abodes of poverty and wretchedness."

LOVES OF ANTONIA AND ORLANDO.

But now Langema's watchful eye espied
Those soft emotions both desired to hide.
She loved the youth from boyhood-but no more
Can love Orlando :-wherefore?-he is poor!
But is he not superior to his fate-
As nobly born-and burning to be great-
Endowed with genius, learning's various lore,
And shining virtues?—Yes, but he is poor!
And o'er that face with welcome ever bright,
A coldness came like clouds o'er morning's light.
Langema spoke not; but her silence told
Orlando's mind what words may not unfold.
He hade adieu-but was not press'd again
To hospitality's beloved fane.
The tear of anguish glistened in his eye,
And vision swam in giddy vacancy.
Antonia sighed while blushes of distress
Oh! then his soul a pang of madness felt,
Revealed the pathos of her tenderness:-
Where hope reposed a moment-but to melt!
And left despair an undetermined sway
While thoughts tumultuous burried him away."

ORLANDO'S SEARCH AFTER WEALTH.
"Well may I curse the contrast of my fate,
A generous feeling, and a poor estate!—
But I have health, and strength, and power of
mind-

Let lamentation vanish with the wind!
Two things oppress me, which I must o'ercome,
The loss of thee, and those I leave at home:
But I'll return-my father's pious breath
Consigned his family to me in death!
He bade me cherish them with tenderness,
And heaven's reward, would, with his blessing,
bless!

Weep not, Antonia! days of joy will send

"How blest the friendship youthful bosoms To thee a lover, and to them a friend.

prove,

That leads insensibly to future love!
While each endearment memory can trace
Swells on the mind with more bewitching grace.
And thus Orlando found his bosom swell
With soft emotions that he blushed to tell.
Fond recollection dwelt on every scene
Of glowing friendship on the playful green,
Where each soft look of smiling loveliness
Diffused a charm that memory must bless.
Oh! while he mused on rapture's morning dream,
What thoughts awoke of passionate esteem!
What soothing sighs beguiled the balmy night,
Where beauty warmed the vision of delight!
Antonia still was present to bis mind,

And seemed on earth that heaven he wished to
find.

But that assurance which his youth could boast,
In manhood's morn of tenderness, is lost.
If passion prompts his modesty to speak,
The blood flies his-to tinge Antonia's cheek-
And when her voice salutes his ravish'd ear,
Confusion's blushes throbbingly appear!

Oh! how I long with rapture for that time,
That fills my soul with tenderness sublime.
But it will come, Antonia, yes, full soon,
With fortune's favours wed to Hymen's boon.
My spirit burns with emulative zeal
For independence-and I must prevail.
The path of fortune brightens on my view,
And at the goal 1 meet with love and you!
That heavenly hope, with anguish doubly dear,
Shall urge Orlando's passionate career-
Shall cheer his soul, and smooth adventure's road
With glowing promise-lighting up to God!
To-morrow's sun shall see the sail expand
That wafts me, sorrowing, from my native land.
For Persian climes I cross the Egean deep,
But will return-O! do not-do not weep!
When first we met enamoured in this grove,
Thy tears were joy-thy smiles were smiles of
love-

And wilt thou now distress my troubled mind,
My hope on earth!-mine angel!-ever kind!
Oh! let me kiss thee-yet!-and yet once more!
For each seems sweeter still than all before!

While o'er his frame strange languishment pre. I must depart-although my bosom's swell

vails,

His face but shadows what his bosom feels.

Forbid's that death-like, dreaded; word-fare

well!"

PARTING OF ANTONIA AND ORLANDO.

"Around his neck the beauteous maiden clung, With heavy heart, while silence chained her tongue :

But that deep sorrow labouring in her breast,
Impassioned tears tumultuously confest.
A kindred weakness o'er his bosom stole,
And spoke in tears the anguish of his soul!
'Twas such a struggle of delirious woe
As nature proved on Adam's overthrow!
Still, still she strained him in that dear embrace,
While her dark curls were wandering o'er his
face.

He tried to leave her-but her arms of love
Were locked enchantingly, and would not move!
Each soft exertion of his soul was vain,
To quit that fond, indissoluble chain!
Which bound him closer, as he seemed to start,
With keen reluctance, from her throbbing heart!||
And wilt thou go?'-the burst of feeling came,
With sighs of tenderness, and looks of shame-
'Oh! were the world my gift-I'd give away
'A thousand worlds to make Orlando stay!-
I will not hear thee!-no!-it must not be-
'If thou depart-Antonia goes with thee!'
'My God!-Yet-stay!-I'll come again this

night.'

He kiss'd her twice and vanished from her sight."

PANGS OF MEMORY.

Envenom'd plague! that terror of mankind,
Destroyed the social sympathies of mind-
Subdued the proud-the humble heart distrest,
Bade joy be sad-and beauty be unblest!
Spread through the isle its overwhelming gloom,
And daily dug the nightly glutted tomb!
Men, women, babes, promiscuous crowd the

scene,

Till morning chase their bearers from the green!
Reflection sickens at the tragic tale,
Where lamentation's murmurs fed the gale-
Where every face betrayed the secret dread-
Who next will swell the number of the dead!
Self-preservation mutually began

To break the chain uniting man to man.
Commerce departed-strangers shunned the bay,
And gaunt Starvation perished where he lay!

Devouring Pestilence! accurst of heaven-
Fell taming scourge of nations unforgiven!
Still dreaded fiend! of rankling matter born,
Whose evening victims saw their latest morn,
Creation withers at thy coming breath-
Thy name is horror: and thy presence death!
The glare of madness lightened in his eye-
Woe marked his cheek, his voice was agony!
Fever his frame, unquenchable his thirst,
His mind was anguish, and himself accurst!
Terrific visitant! that cowed the soul-
As lightning, fierce-and graspless to control;
His march was loneliness without a shade!
Day cursed his silence! night his dark parade!

"When friendship parts-the mourners that Reflection, shuddering as the demon past,

remain,

Muse on its worth with melancholy pain:
Recal the memory of past delight-

The day's young joy-and sweet harmonious
night.

Then each endearment teems upon the soul
With fond officiousness from friendship's roll-
Till unavailing sorrow wrings the mind,
Lamenting gratitude was not more kind!
But the deep pang which friendship's doomed to

Oh! while the mind may venture to retrace
The killing transports of the last embrace-
The nameless whisper-look-and parting sigh,
That mingled joy with whelming agony!
The love-lorn soul, in languishing regret,
Feels sad, like nature when her sun bath set."

RAVAGES OF THE PLAGUE.

"God of the just! and guardian of the free! What scenes arise on anguished memory! From streets depopulated-towns forlornNights red with ruin lighting in the morn! From feeling's wreck-from nature's mortal throes

Where shall I turn-nor meet appalling woes!

Shrunk from the future moment to his last!
Air loathed his breath, and earth abhorred his

tread

He found men living-and he left them dead!
Spreading around infection's blasting touch
From crowded poverty's still widowed couch,
He gave despair to rule the breast alone,
And banished hope-to sue at Mercy's throne."

THE FATE OF ROBELLA.

"Yet, ere thou cease, Robella's fate disclose.' 'Her Lord still lives to mourn her last repose! 'Lamented victim! borne to shades of night, "Soon as the babe of promise blest the light!' It is the plague! exclaimed that brutal band"We parley not-but execute command"Thou must depart !'-she clasped the new-born child,

And pleaded truth with speechless anguish wild

Thou must depart '-And nature's sickness gave

Robella's beauty to a living grave!

Where was her Lord at that eventful hour?'
Alas! what could he 'gainst the arm of power?
Firm in his faith, devoted in his love,

He shared that fate which he could not remove.
There was no plague, he urged them all to see,
With nature's feelings wound to agony.
"They saw-believed not-pitied not his case,
'But tore his partner from his last embrace!

· Thou, too, must go-with every child thou

hast

Where caution wills-till quarantine be past.'
'I will!' he cried, but leave my children
here'-

'Tis vain-Robella weeps on horror's bier,
The hapless man's distraction who may tell?
He bade his home a long-a last farewell,
Close by his side slow move a girl—a boy-
'Their mother's pride-their father's bosom-joy;
That joy hath vanished from his frantic mind,
While, sobbing, walks his eldest hope behind-
Where do we go, my father, thus, from home?'
'Emotion, startling, falters- to the tomb!'

The car of death precedes them through the
town,

"Where thousands, weeping, deem his fate their

own.

Strained to his breast, an infant babe is seen,
Whose sorrows touch, pathetically keen :—
Silent, in grief-he soothes its speechless fears,
And hushes nature with a father's tears!"

ADDRESS TO SLEEP,

BY THE LATE MR. CURRAN.

O SLEEP, awhile thy power suspending,
Weigh not yet my eyelid down,
For mem'ry, see! with eve attending,
Claims a moment for her own :
I know her by her robe of mourning,
I know her by her faded light,
When faithful with the gloom returning,
She comes to bid a sad good night.

O! let me hear, with bosom swelling,
While she sighs o'er time that's past;
O! let me weep, while she is telling,

Of joys that pine and pangs that last.
And now, O sleep, while grief is streaming,
Let thy balm sweet peace restore;
While fearful hope through tears is beaming,
Soothe to rest that wakes no more.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE BLIGHTED ROSE.
BY MISS M. LEMAN REDE.

How gay was its foliage, how bright was its hue,
How it scented the breeze that blew round it,
How carelessly sweet in the valley it grew,

Till the blight of the mildew had found it.

Now faded, forlorn, scarce the wreck of its charms,

Remain e'en for fancy's renewing;

Its branches are bare, and exposed are its thorns,
And it lies the pale victim of ruin.

Discontent is the mildew that feeds on the mind,
That robs the warm cheek of its roses,

That cankers the breast of the rude or refined,
Where'er it a moment reposes;

'Tis a wizard, whose touch withers beauty away,
And denies every pleasure to blossom;
Insidiously creeps to the heart of its prey,
And invites cold despair to the bosom.