1830.] The Campaign of the Spanish Constitutionalists. 683 



events that absorb the attention of Europe, is not difficult to be seen. 

 We will not interfere in the debates at issue in the continent. This has, 

 hitherto, been the general opinion ; an opinion greatly strengthened and 

 confirmed since the change which has lately taken place in our adminis- 

 tration. The sympathy of the English public is strongly engaged in 

 favour of the liberty of the Spaniards, and from the government the 

 patriots have nothing to apprehend. W. 



THE COMING OF WINTER. 



SILENT I wandered through a winding lane, 



Where late the Spring's triumphant hand had thrown 



Its archways green ; alike from sun and rain 

 Protecting those that love to stray alone, 

 And speak to Nature with that inward tone, 



Which, trembling in the heart, is scarcely heard 

 A music all too mute for any sigh or word. 



The place was known to some of thoughtful mould, 

 Lovers of summer-solitudes. And there 



Full oft had been renewed the hours of old, 

 Ere Evil in the heart had found a lair, 

 Or Hope's high wing grew heavy with despair. 



I seemed to meet their minds within the place, 

 And felt a heavenly breath come freshening o'er my face. 



The way was as a labyrinth of love. 



There Peace and low-voiced Pleasure might be found, 

 Seeking brief glimpses of the blue above, 



Or gazing fondly on the lifeless ground, 



As if some spirit spoke in every sound 

 Or rustling step : for even the naked earth 

 Hath seeds of human joy of deep mysterious mirth. 



But now, through all that peaceful pleasant path, 

 O'er which a leafy arch had late been flung, 



The conquering Winter walks. A sign of wrath 

 Is on each stem and twining tendril hung. 

 The wind now wails, that in the spring-time sung 



Low symphonies of gladness ; and the year 

 Sheds fast and frozen tears o'er Summer's shadowy bier. 



That native green cathedral, where the soul 

 Swelled with the sweet religion of the fields, 



Is all in ruin ; to Time's cold control, 



Fretted with flowers the vaulted verdure yields. 

 From sharp decay no leaf its blossom shields, 



But every rich adorning object dies 

 Which Nature's self beheld with glad admiring eyes. 



Earth seems no longer the selected bride 



Of Heaven, but, like a Widow, weepeth there. 

 Across her brow the deepening shadows glide ; 

 The wreaths have perished on her pallid hair. 

 Yet in her bosom, beautiful though bare, 

 A radiant hope is sown, that soon shall rise 

 And ripen into joy beneath the brightening skies. 

 4 R 2 



