1829.] 



Domestic and Foreign. 



563 



cipate nothing but scrmoni/ing. The terni Is 

 invidious, and had better have been avoided, 

 for really nothing appears in any of the 

 Annuals, which is not perfectly decorous, 

 and as little alien, and quite as consistent 

 with the epithet, as the general contents of 

 the Amulet. With the exception of the 

 verses on the crucifixion, and the two sisters 

 of Bethany, illustrative of two of the en- 

 gravings, and a few other verses interspersed 

 here and there, tlie topics are wholly of the 

 common literary cast. Mr. Halls' contri- 

 butions are the best and most lively of the 

 prose pieces. Dr. Walsh's inquiry as to 

 the inhabitancy of other worlds, is too long 

 and too learned by half for the occasion, and 

 will be sure not to be read. Among the 

 verses, the virtues of wliich are of the usual 

 average quality, we were surprised by some 

 of Mr. Sadler's (M.P.), not having the least 

 notion that rhyming was among his qualifi- 

 cations, or occupations. Tliey are easy and 

 smooth as any in the volume. We extract 

 them. 



BANKS OF THE dove! 



(fyritten on leaving my native village in early 

 youth.) 

 Adieu to the Banks of tlie Dove! 



My happiest moments are flown ; 

 I must leave the retreats that I love. 



For scenes far remote and nnknown : 

 But wherever my lot may be cast. 



Whatever my fortunes may prove, 

 1 shall dwell on the days that are pa«t, 



And sigh for the Banks of the Dove I 



Ye Friends of my earliest Youtli, 



From you how reluctant I part '. 

 Your Friendship was founded on truth, 



And shall ne'er be erased from my heart. 

 Companions perhaps I may find, 



But where shall I meet with such love, 

 With attachments so lasting and kind. 



As I leave on the Banks of the Dove ? 



Thon sweet little Village, farewell 1 



Every object around thee is dear j 

 Every woodland, and meadow, and dell. 



Where I wandered for many a year : 

 These scenes which could rapture impart. 



These seats of contentment and love, 

 And thee I the dear home of my heart, 



I leave ;— and the Banks of the Dove. 



The hours of my childhood are past, 



They seem even now as a dream ; 

 They glided as peaceful and fast, 



As the waves of this beautiful stream ; 

 They fled — but their niem'ry remains, 



Nor shall from my busom remove ; 

 As the fugitive flood still ri'tains. 



Reflected, the Banks of the Dovel 



But I go 1 for the Dove's crystal wave 



Now murmurs commixt with my tears ; 

 My MoTiiKR is laid in her grave. 



Where yon hallowed turret appears ! 

 Ye Vilbgers, think of the spot. 



And lay me beside her I love I 

 For here In my birth-place forgot, 



I'll sleep on the Uanki uf the Dure t 



Till then, in tire visions of night, 



O may her loved spirit descend! 

 And tell mo, tbough hid from my sight, 



She still is my Guardian and Friend I 

 The thought of her presence shall keep 



My footsteps, when tempted to rove. 

 And sweeten my woes while I weep 



For HEK, and the Banks of the Dove ! 



Among the engravings the more remark- 

 able are the Dorty Bairn, designed by Wil- 

 kie, and the Pedagogue, Sir Hugh, in the 

 Merry Wives of Windsor, catechising 

 William in his accidence ; but Mrs. Page 

 is too handsome and lady-like for such a 

 dolt and fright of a boy. IMartin's Cruci- 

 fixion is stamped by his own genius, and Le 

 Keux has engraved it with IMartin's own 

 tool. The worst of Martin's pictures is, 

 that seeing one, you seem to see all — he 

 masses his shades all alike. The sisters of 

 Bethany is no subject for tlie pencil; the 

 artist has done his best, but there is an 

 awkwardness, which no gravity in the 

 features of the principal can remove. Mary's 

 is a beautiful face, and interestingly earnest ; 

 but IMartha need not have looked so very a 

 girl, nor have been so literally encumbered. 

 How she balances the dishes we cannot 

 imagine, engaged as one hand is, and that 

 hand, by the way, more like a stump than 

 even a fist. 



The Gem, 1830.— The Gem, with a suf- 

 ficient mixture, like the rest of the Annuals, 

 of the stale and idealess romance in the 

 verses, has many graceful little pieces — 

 more, we are quite confident, than any we 

 have yet noticed. The "Stolen Interview," 

 by we do not know whom, is among the 

 best, if it be not the very best ; but, un- 

 luckily for us, it is too long, and we cannot 

 commit violence upon it by clipping it. 

 " Love's Reproach, a rustic plaint," by 

 Mr. Kenney, comes very near it — both are 

 easy, playful, and natural. Of the graver 

 kind, Mr. JMalcolm's verses on the subject 

 of one of the engravings — the Halt on the 

 Blarch — a soldier with his wife and children, 

 deserves distinction. 

 Rest, wearied ones ! it is the hour 

 When faints the heart, and droops the (lower. 

 And shadows shrink, and breezes swoon, 

 Beneath the burning eye of noon ; 

 When every sound is deeply still, 

 Save of the torrent on the hill, 

 Which lifts its lonely voice, that seems 

 The moan of Nature in her dreams, &c. 



Miss Isabella Hill's, too, on the " Wi- 

 dow" of the last year's Gem, begins well at 

 least. 



No, 'tis not on a face like t/iis 



That fools should gaze, and jest ; 

 Thoughts of for-ever vanished bliss 

 Should shield that matron breast, 

 Too holy she to be a theme 



For slander's hackneyed tone, 

 Or the coarse doubts of those, who deem 

 All Faith light as their own, &c. 



Bedding's " Hamilton on tlio Alps" lias 

 the tone and spirit of jwetry ; and Charles 

 4 C 2 



