But then-"They look so pious and pathetic; So tonsured, sack-clothed, sallow, and resign'd;" Inquire in London, "Wanted an Ascetic;" The "Times" will find you hundreds to your mind, Ay, thousands, all as piously inclined To eat and drink for nothing all their lives As any monk that ever dozed or dined : Ready to trick their debtors, 'scape their wives, Wear cowls and cant, and fill with droneship all your hives. REFLECTIONS. FROM "THE MODERN ORLANDO." MUST earth be toil, and be for ever toil? Must war, and want, and cold, and clay, be man? Year upon year but changes of turmoil; Hearts sick, and faces with heartsickness wan! I wish some hand, alert at the trepan, Would give my brain a "bump" for gown or cowl; The nearest to the status of an owl; Yet what is human life ?-the odds are for the fowl! What if your owl has neither child nor wife? 'Tis true he now and then sits rather late; But 'tis for business, and that business sport! He never hears a sixteen hours' debate On herrings, hogsheads, and the price of port. He 'scapes Whig wit and Treasury retort ; (Owl as he is, he's not in Parliament !) Nor cares a bean who's "in" or "out" at court; Nor trembles if the funds fall cent per cent; Nor, like your Irish lords, get bullets for his rent! Yes, give me but my choice, I'd be a bird; But it must be an osprey-a sea-King! Wherever gale awoke or billow stirr'd Breasting the tempest; ever on the wing; Then I should colonise; choose some bright spot, Then, looking down with dignified disdain On man, the wretch! the sport of winds and waves! Scoff at the world's unfeather'd tribe of slaves, Or I should take my tour-that tour the world! Those well-dress'd men, whom all conspire to blind ;) Taking my "bird's eye view" of men and things, Teaching the world the grand supremacy of wings! DREAMS. PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. FROM FESTUS. THE dead of night: earth seems but seeming- The bird is dreaming, in its nest, Of song, and sky, and loved one's breast; The steed is dreaming, in his stall, Of one long breathless leap and fall : Of his life dreams the sacrifice- The truth that made him more than man; If all written poetry, except Festus, was blotted out, in Festus there would still remain sufficient thought to rekindle in other poets what was lost. We feel that Festus is not sufficiently understood-that Mr. Bailey is not sufficiently known, although he is the greatest grasper of poetic symbols, and poetic passion, that the age has produced.-Critic. THE MIGHTY DEAD. WASHINGTON ALLSTON, THE AMERICAN PAINTER, BORN IN SOUTH CAROLINA, IN 1779. As, thinking of the mighty dead, The young from slothful couch will start, O, who shall lightly say that fame O, who shall lightly say that fame |