850 
Thy blushing flow’rs, the gift-of rosy May, 
Thy buds, and verdant leaves are whirl'd 
away, 
And all thy honours to the earth are cast— 
Ali! yet a little, and the breath of spring 
Shall crown thee with fresh flow’rs 5 again 
shall bring 
Fragrance to thy young buds, and new-born 
bloom, 
Again shall fan thee with propitious wing. 
But oh! what spring shall dawn upon the 
loom 
That dwells around the cold and silent tomb!” 
Bayley. 
«* How shall I meet thee, summer, wont to 
fill ; 
My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide 
First came, and on each coomb’s romantick 
side 
Was heard the distant cuckoo’s hollow bili? 
Fresh flowers shall fringe the wild-brink of 
the stream, 
As with the songs of joyance and of hope 
The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and, on the 
slope 
The poplars sparkle in the transient beam ; 
The shrubs and laurels which I lov’d to tend, 
Thinking their May-tide fragrance might 
delight, 
With many a peaceful charm, thee, my best 
friend, 
Shall put forth their green shoot, and cheer 
the sight! 
But Ishall mark their hues with sickningeves, 
And weep for her who in the cold grave lies.” 
Bowles, 1. 32. 
In another Sonnet Mr. Bayley has 
fitted in the same conclusion. 
«« That now has left me hereto weep and mourn 
Her that lies buried in the silent tomb.” 
Bayley, 85. 
The Sonnet ‘6 at Harlech Castle,’* thus 
affectedly entitled, in imitation of Mr, 
Bowles, is stolen in the same manner 
from Mr. Lloyd, more impudently, ag 
the original thoughts are more marked. 
«*Harteca! with many a pause and cautious 
» tread 
Lclimb’d thy hills; while, wafted from the 
main 
With low wail, as of one long rack’d by pain, 
Through thy lone tow'rs the breezes sigh ; 
- its head . 
The long lank grass that o’er thy tops is 
spread 
Waves wildly ; hy hoar ruins shew how vain 
Conquest’s prou 
strain, 
And the priz’d wreath that shades the hero's 
_ head.— , 
Thy walls are mould’ring; for the clanging 
_ steel, } 
And din of arms, the murm’ring mountain- 
bee, : s 
Humming amid the wild flows’s that conceal 
pageant, vict’ry’s lofty, 
POETRY. 
Thy turret tops, shall give her minstrelsy ; 
And Mercy siniles, e’en in thy courts, to see 
The waving harvest allits stores reveal.” 
“To Craig Miller Castle. , 
‘«This hoary labyrinth, the wreck of Time, 
Solicitous with timid step I tread, 
Scale the stern battlement, or venturows climb 
Where the rent watch-tower bows its grassy 
head. 
These dark damp caverns breathe mysterious 
dread, 
Haply still foul with tinct of ancient crime ; 
Methinks some spirit of the ennobled dead, 
High-bosom’d maid, or warrior form sublime 
Haunts them ; the flapping of the heavy bird 
Imagined warnings fearfully impart, 
And that dull breeze below that feebly stirr’d, 
ee the deep breathing of an o’ercharg’d 
seart } 
Proud Tower, thy halls now stable the lean 
herd, 
And musing Mercysmiles that such thou art.” 
Coleridge’s Poerns, 2d edition. 
Mr. Bowles has been plundered as 
unmercifully as Mr. Wordsworth, by 
this dealer in shreds ‘and patches. 
«‘Oh.! breathe once more that air; Oh! yet 
bid sound 
Once more that well-remember’d much lov'’d 
lay, 
First heard by me, when in life’s golden Ma 
My happy hours dane’d onin laughing ard 
There where, through verdant banks with 
poplar crown'd, 
Smooth Wever, steals along his silent way, 
Winding in many amaze with sinuous play $ 
Near whose cool wave, as on the flow'ry 
grouid » 
Supine I lay, those soundg first charm’d my 
ear.” 
From Mr. Bowles’s Sofinet at Ostend 
upon the Bells. 
‘« Bidding me many a tender thought recal 
Of summer days, and those delightful years, 
When by my native streams, in life’s fair 
prime, 
The mournful magic of theirmingling chimes 
First wak’d iny wondering, childhood into 
tears.” 
Vol. 1. 15. 
In another Sonnet, part of this same 
passage is botched in. 
‘© to me it speaks of days 
Of long past peace, of those delightful years 
That never shall return.” Bayley, 94. 
e Andhere Mr. Peter Bayley squints at 
the Sonnet on re-visiting Oxford, by the 
same author. 
But it were endless to enumerate all 
the petty larcenies of this literary Bar- 
rington, Any person conversant with 
Mr. Bowles’s Sonnets who shall peruse 
