1822.] 
Original Poetry. 139 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
aa 
PALMYRA ; 
A PRIZE POEM, 
Recited at the. Theatre, Oxford, June 19, 1822. 
By AMBROSE BARBER, of Wadham College. 
OER the hush’d plain where sullen horror broods, 
And darkest frown the Syrian solitudes, 
Where morn’s soft steps no balmy fragrance leave, 
And parch’d and dewless is the couch of eve, 
Thy form, pale City of the waste, appears 
Like some faint vision of departed years. 
In mazy cluster still, a giant train, " 
Thy sculptur’d fabrics whiten onthe plain ; 
Still stretch thy column’d vistas far away 
The shadow’d dimness of their long array. 
But where the stirring crowd, the voice of strife, 
The glow of action, and the thrill of life? 
Hear the loud crash of yon huge fragments fall, 
The pealing answer of each desert hall, 
The night-bird shrieking from her secret cell, 
And hollow winds the tale of ruin tell. 
See, fondly ling’ring, Mithra’s parting rays 
Gild the proud tow’rs once vocal with his praise, 
But the cold altars clasping weeds entwine, 
And Moslems worship at the godless shrine. 
Yet here slow pausing Memory loves to pour 
Her magic infiuence o’er this pensive hour; 
And oft as yon recesses deep prolong 
The echoed sweetness of the Arab’s song, 
Recalls that scene when wisdom’s sceptred child 
First broke the stillness of the lonely wild. 
From air, from ocean, from earth’s utmost clime, 
The summon’d genii heard the mutter’d rhyme, 
The tasking spell their airy hands obey’d, 
And Tadmor glitter’d in the palmy shade. 
Lo! to her feet the tide of ages brings 
The wealth of nations, and the pomp of kings, 
And far her warrior queen from Parthia’s plain 
To the dark Aethiop spreads her ample reign. 
Vain boast ; e’en she who Immz’s field along 
Wak’d fiercer pbrenzy in the patriot throng, 
And sternly beauteous, like the meteor’s light, 
Shot through the tempest of Emesa’s fight— 
While trembling captives round the victor wait, 
Hang on his eye, and catch the word of fate— 
Zenobia’s self must quail beneath his nod, 
A kneeling suppliant to the mimic god. 
- But one there stood, amid that abject throng, 
In truth triumphant and in virtue strong ; 
Beam'd on his brow the soul which, undismay’d, 
Smil’d at the rod, and scorn’d th’ uplifted blade 
O’er thee, Palmyra, darkest ace to low’r 
The boding terrors of that fatal hour ; 
Far from thy glades indignant Freedom fled, 
And hope too wither’d as Longinus bled, 
— 
MARY. 
I saw the kindling azure glow, 
As Phebus led the early day; 
I saw his mingling glories flow, 
And wide o’er all th’ ethereal way 
Diffuse a radiant train. 
Nature, in richest robes attir’d, 
Bade all her mantling splendors rise ; 
Her charms the tuneful throng inspir’d, 
And melting music fill’d the skies 
With many a ling’ring strain. 
So, Mary, smil’d thy early morn, 
So brightly blooms thy ripen’d day ; 
The Graces all thy steps adorn, 
And Science, with her heav’nly ray, 
Thy generous mind inspires. 
_ So may thy Sun, in glowing fire, 
_ Behind the western hills depart; 
So may some Seraph’s sounding lyre 
Thrill with its sacred strains thy heart, 
As life’s last flash expires. 
L. LANGLEY, 
Brampton Academy ; 
August 1, 1822. 
— 
ADDRESS TO THE SUN, 
By the Kneeling Negro, bearing a Sun-dial, 
in the Square of Clement’s Inn. 
Resplendent orb of light! whose fervent rays 
O’er sable Afric shed perennial blaze, 
In my degraded form and suppliant face,— 
Lo! the sad emblem of our hapless race,— 
Lowly I bear, beneath a master’s force, 
The mystic tablet that denotes thy course, 
And tells mankind, by art and skill sublime, 
The wond’rous lapse of ever-moving time. 
To me the art and skill alike unknown, 
Condemn’d in solitary woe to groan; 
In vain thy eens gilds the lovely spring, 
To me thy brightest charms no solace bring; 
Midst boisterous winds I kneel, and pouring rain, 
And change of seasons brings no change of pain. 
—_—— 
CLIMENE AND CHLORIS. 
(From Moliere’s Interlude of G. Dandin.) 
. Climene. 
L’auTRE jour, d’Anette 
J’entendis la voix, 
Qui sur sa musette 
Chantoit dans nos bois: 
Amour! que sous ton empire 
On souffre des maux cuissants ! 
Je le puis bien dire 
Puisque je le sens. 
Chloris. 
La jeune Lisette, 
Au meme moment 
Sur le ton d’Anette 
Reprit tendrement: 
Amour! si sous ton empire 
Je souffre des maux cuissants, 
C’est de n’oser dire 
Tout ce qui je sens. 
TRANSLATION. 
Climene. 
The other day, Annette the fair 
Among our woodlands stray’d ; 
I heard her music charm the air, 
Such melody she play’d : 
Love! when directed by thy sway, 
The pangs are keen to bear; 
] from experience well can say, 
Since I have known my share. 
Chloris. 
And then I heard the young Lisette, 
As the sweet echoes died, 
Respond her feelings to Annette, 
And tenderly she sigh’d: 
Love! if subservient to thy sway, 
I suffer pangs so keen; 
It is because I dare not say 
The fonduess that I mean. 
; J.R. Prior, 
Islington. 
ON 
