Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

MARIUS AMIDST THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE.

CARTHAGE! I love thee! thou hast run

3

As I, a warlike race;

And now thy Glory's radiant sun

Hath veil'd in clouds his face:

Thy days of pride-as mine-depart;
Thy Gods desert thee, and thou art
A thing as nobly base

As he whose sullen footstep falls

To night around thy crumbling walls.

And Rome hath heap'd her woes and pains
Alike on me and thee;

And thou dost sit in servile chains,-
But mine they shall not be!
Though fiercely o'er this aged head
The wrath of angry Jove is shed,
Marius shall still be free,

Free-in the pride that scorns his foe,
And bares the head to meet the blow.

[blocks in formation]

A COUNTRY WEDDING.

I.

OH! there is music in the bells

From yonder noisy steeple pealing, That sweetly o'er the spirit swells,

And wakes the deepest chords of feeling.

II.

It is not that this twilight hour

Blends softly with their melting tone; Theirs is a deeper, holier power,

Whose echo's in the heart alone.

III.

There's music in that merry voice,-
The voice of peasants, wild and high,-
That bids the listener's soul rejoice,
And share in all their revelry.

IV.

It is not that those sounds proclaim
Some boastful conqueror's vain parade;
They swell not now the pomp of Fame,
They hail no gorgeous cavalcade

V.

But oh! they bear a mightier charm
Than shouts of triumph can express;
They spring from hearts with feeling warm,
Each voice a voice of happiness.

VI.

There's an o'erflowing tide of gladness
To-night in all we hear and see;
A moment's passing dream of madness,
The heart's delirious jubilee.

VII.

Who recks, amid a scene like this,
Of future grief, or toil, or pain?
To-morrow shall dissolve the bliss,
And Care and Reason wake again.

VIII.

And it may be that yonder chime,

Which spoke to-day of hearts delighted,

May sadly tell in after-time

That death those hearts has disunited.

IX.

It may be but away, away!

Forebodings dark and dreams of sorrow!
Let Mirth and Music reign to-day,

And Reason's voice be heard to-morrow.

X.

I would not, with most sage advice,
Dispel this momentary fever;
For oh! the world were Paradise,
Could such delirium last for ever.

October 5, 1819.

K. S.

WHAT SHALL I DO?

"WHAT shall I do?" exclaimed Lady Emily to me the other day, as I entered her apartment, and found her reclining negligently on an Ottoman, with a most languishing air; "What shall I do, Charles," she exclaimed, laying a strong emphasis on the shall," to expel Ennui, and recover my lost spirits? All the world seems to have deserted Town, and left me to enjoy my own company; positively Charles you are the only rational being my eyes have had the pleasure of seeing this month; and now do be a good creature, and get me from the Circulating Library Scott's last Novel; it is scarcely two, and old Lady Jervis's card says seven for dinner this evening, where I believe you are going." She accompanied this request with such a bewitching smile as would have melted a much harder heart than Charles Bellamy's. I readily promised, and we soon after parted; Lady Emily to her toilette, and I to execute my commission. But by some fairy impulse or other, Lady Emily's "what shall I do?" had taken entire possession of my thoughts, much to the detriment of Scott's last Novel. "Such a lovely creature as this!" said I inwardly, "formed to be the ornament of society, forced to such an exclamation; but," continued I, in the same train of consideration, "by whom are they not uttered? In every station these few words will be heard with more or less meaning. The wealthy heir, revelling in all the pleasures and delights of luxury, and snatching with hasty hand every sweet life can afford, like the bee, culling honey from every flower, in the midst of all his joys and festivity, will cast his weary listless limbs on the nearest couch, with the exclamation of What shall I do?' The miserable offspring of poverty, dragging on his existence through hardships and difficulties, utters the same exclamation from his straw pallet: the shuddering victim of sorrow, while the unconscious tear trickles down his care-worn cheeks, will clasp his hands in agony,

1

and sigh forth the scarcely articulate sounds from his agitated and bursting bosom. It is alike connected with the soft melting accents of pity, and the tumultuous fury of anger; it is often to be found in the last desperate address of the discarded lover, and the broken ejaculations of my old Grandfather during a twinge of the gout. It was the T Sparw of the Greeks; the Quid faciam of the Romans; and in some not the least admired effusions of our own divinest Shakspeare holds a conspicuous place. The Philosopher has often broken out into a similar expression while demonstrating some hidden problem, or unravelling the secrets of nature; and as often has it come to the aid of the dismayed countryman, as, with one hand employed in scratching his head, and the other in collecting the fragments of the broken milk-jug, he planned the best mode of avoiding the anger and broom-stick of Betty the Housemaid. As my thoughts were hurrying thus rapidly on, my feet were not slow in accompanying them, and I had made some progress in the Park, when, to my amazement, I heard the identical subject of my meditations uttered in the deepest tones of distress; I mechanically turned to the sound, and beheld a tattered aged figure, in the habiliments of a soldier, hanging in silent agony over a poor dog, which, after having apparently been the faithful companion of his wanderings, now lay dead at his feet; his long grey locks floated in the cold air, and, as he dropped the tear of affection over his lost favourite, the old man's countenance, expressive of despair, and at the same time attempted resignation, touched me as feelingly as Lady Emily's smile. I slid gently up to the aged veteran, and slipped some money into his hand; he at first stared at me and my offering with a senseless gaze, like a person just recovering from the effects of some horrible dream; his eye then glanced upon his poor dog, and, as he recalled his scattered thoughts, the hectic of a moment passed over his furrowed cheek, and a tear stood trembling in his eye; he indignantly brushed it off, and, looking stedfastly at me, attempted to speak, but it was in vain; the words died away in his throat, and he covered his face with his hand. There was no need of thanks, no need of words; that single look was sufficient; it was as precious to me then as the sweetest smile that ever played over the cheek of beauty. Oh! ye thoughtless sons of luxury, ye would give the choicest pleasures of art to be able to enjoy the thrill of delight that single silent look bore with it to my soul: it spoke volumes; and, in my idea, said as feelingly as the old man could have ever wished, "What shall I do to requite you?" I turned away from the affecting scene, and hurrying rapidly on, endeavoured, by the swiftness of my motions, to avoid too open a display of the indescribable feelings that succeeded one another in the mastery of my whole bosom; but in

rage,

my haste, stumbling over something in the road, and, on casting my eyes downwards, finding them to be a little boy's playthings, set about repairing my error; and, upon looking out for the little fellow, found him by my side standing in a most ludicrous attitude of and the look which he directed at the dispersed objects of his amusement, was amply expressive of "What shall I do to revenge myself?" The contrast between this and my former adventure was too striking to be unobserved. "Here are two circumstances immediately to corroborate my observations," was my remark as I walked more slowly onwards, "and a hundred more would perhaps occur in the space of an hour; these go well to prove how often those four expressive monosyllables are everywhere uttered," continued I, resuming the broken thread of my observations. "Sir Felix Patient, while yielding to the overwhelming torrent of her Ladyship's tongue, stretches out his legs, good easy man, before the parlour fire, and, as his dirty shoes afford new subjects for his cara sposa's eloquence, solaces himself with the conciliating "Lord, Lord! my dear, what shall I do to please you?" The County Member, while lowering his purse-proud haughtiness to the apron of some greasy rogue, often owes his vote to the overpowering " What shall I do for your son Samuel, or that little chubby-faced darling, Sally?" Amidst, too, the transactions of our own miniature world, to enumerate the various repetitions of these four words would bid defiance to the calculating powers of a Burton. How often has some unhappy youngster, running in breathless, and finding himself too late for school, deliberated at the door, whether he should trust his fate to the Master's clemency, or return, with a sick headach, to his Dame's; how often has he then appealed, with tears in his eyes, to some companion, in the emphatical, impressive, much-meaning "What shall I do?" Thou thyself, Charles, hast often been inclined to try the force of these monosyllables amid the various jeopardies in which you have been involved, by love, or a romantic disposition. Little did I at this moment suspect that the Fates were preparing a new jeopardy for me; but unfortunately the hour had already arrived which attracts all the butterflies of fashion into the Park, and in the midst of my cogitations I found myself crossing the ride, and there appeared, within a few yards of me, a horseman advancing at a most tremendous rate, and to all appearance one of those hair-brained gentlemen that pay very little regard to humble foot-passengers, though even of the Honourable Charles Bellamy's rank: as I wheeled round on my retreat, to my utter dismay, a moving phalanx of carriages appeared in the rear, blocking up my escape. My only outlet lay through a part of the road, from which, as I perceived the mud with which it was environed, I turned with horror; but what was to be done? carriages ap

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »