44 
HOLY ROOD:— 
SUGGESTED BY THE VIEW OF THAT RUIN AT 
THE DIORAMA, © 
Tuov mouldering pile, of hoar antiquity, 
Whose sculptur’d walls, and proud-rais’d 
capitals, 
Th’ unsparing hand of Time hasrude defac’d; 
With awe and admiration do [ gaze, 
As thro’ the broken arch the pale moon gleams, 
And shedsa mournful radiance o’er the scene: 
The sickly light, with melancholy beam, 
Shines on the fallen shaft and marble temb, 
Richly emblazon’d with heraldic pomp— 
The silent chamber of the kingly dead. 
QO! thou grey chronicler of other years! 
What wonder-working changes hast thou 
wrought! 
What silence and what desolation spread ! 
’ Neath thy corroding touch the stately dome 
Lies crumbling in the dust, yet lovely still ; 
For there's a beauty in thy moss-grown walls, 
Thy cloister’s gloom, that throws a dubious 
light, 
More still and awful, as the shades prevail. 
Is this the place where Mary held her court, 
When, thrall’d by beauty, each devoted lord, 
Low bending, dropp’d the knee ?—in which 
was horn 
The prince, foredoom’d to blend the rival 
crowns ?— 
Where peal’d the anthem—the mask“d revel 
reel’d 2— 
Where gleam’d the assassin-steel ? I cannot 
gaze 
, Upon thy prostrate palace-fane, Holyrood! 
Without the thoughts of other days—iho’ now 
Far other sounds and-otker voices wake, 
Tf voice be heard, thy echoes. ‘Thro’ thy aisles, 
For madrigal and requiem, wails alone 
The screeching owl: the leaden-winged bat 
Now leas thy only dance; and yon pale moon, 
And flickering lamp, that glimmers o’er the 
grave, . 
Are all thy torches now. Yet soothing more 
To Meditation’s eye, than when tliy pomps | 
Made night outshine the day. ’'Tis beautiful ! 
And I would roveamidstthy crumbling aisles, 
But that I fear to startle from ber dream 
Gf mournful musing, by my echoing step, 
Yon vestal, watching o’er the funeral flame. 
J.S. HH. 
SONNET TO THE SHADE OF BYRON, 
Tuy heavens were in their glory—every star 
Beain’d in its golden influence—the sky 
Shone like a vault of gems—when, from afar, 
One richer in all radiance woo’d my eye; 
Peep in its bed of blue it glitter’d on, 
Like woman deck’d im beauty’s royalty ! 
Or, if in minds we seek compurison, 
Who should it eall to thought, great Bard!> 
but thee— 
Byron ! first star of that bright galaxy, 
That sheds its light o’erevery realm andclime, _ 
And thro’ the eternal void spreads gloriously : 
The lustre kindled in its nook of time! 
For thou a world didst make of gardens bright, 
Where flowers of every hue breathe lovely 
on the sight. Enort. 
Blue-Anchor Road, 
Original Poetry. 
[Aug. 1, 
IMITATED FROM ANACREON’S 
EIZ TO EAP— 
ODE TO SPRING, 
Ham, fair returning Spring! thy charms 
diffuse ! 
Ye blooming roses, all your sweets exhale! 
Ye Graces, deck’d with flowers of varied hues, 
Come haste, descend, and tyead the enamell’d 
vale! 
See yonder wave, that whitens in the breeze, 
Encircling oft the moss-grown rock above! 
Hark! in yon verdant grove, the sheltering 
trees 
Resound the ringdove’sstrains of blissful love! 
Now, soothing Zephyr glads the coming year; 
Bright shines the genial sun’s revolving rays ; 
Tn light fantastic forms the clouds appear, 
And grateful mortals swell the choir of praise. 
Haste,then, and bring the rosy sparkling wine; 
Fill up the spacious bowl within the bow’r; 
Let fruitful olive ’round the handles twine; 
Alert and joyful, catch the feeting hour! 
Bucks, May 2, 1825. G.I. H. 
TO MY CHILD CECILIA, WHILST SLEEPING. 
Hart, infant-bud of innocence and health ! 
Enjoying now soft Slumber’s kindliest calm, 
Thy pastime o’er. While Sleep, with gentlest 
stealth, 
On thy lull’d senses strews her dewy elen 
Boundin thesoftenchantment of some dream, 
Upon thy downy pillow thou dost lie; 
Where ; soon thou’lt ope those ‘laughing 
eyes,” that beam 
The mellow blueness of a summer’s sky. 
Sweet fondling! tho’ thy vision’s light be veil’d, 
And still’d-the artless music of thy tongue ; 
The perfume from those ruby lips exhal’d, 
Thy vermil cheek, with dewy freshness bung, 
Are light and song—while meekly heaves 
that breast, 
Light as young Zephyr’s foot on breathing 
violets prest. Enokt. 
Blue-Anchor Road. 
SONG. 
O’rr thy lip the young smile may enchant- 
ingly play, 
Like the first beam of morn on the rose ; ; 
And thine eye—oh! what eestacies live in, 
its ray !— 
The blue tints of heav’n may diselose. 
But ’tis not mere beauty we prize in thy face: 
No—the spell every bosom to bind . 
Is the light of the soul that illumines. each 
grace, 
And the glance’ that discloses the mind. 
Thy form is as lovely, as graceful and light, 
As a fond poet’s fancy can raise, 
When he sinks into slumber, and’ dreams, 
through the night, 
Of the lov’d one that hallows his lays. 
But ’tis not’ mere beauty of person or face 
Whose spell my fond bosom can bind { 
O no!—’tisthe soul that illumines each grace, 
And the glance that discloses the mind. - 
weds, Ty 
