III.] MELAN-CHOLY HOUEP. 335 



years since this rencounter, during which period he has 

 not been heard of: and there can be little doubt that 

 this unfortunate young man has found in some remote 

 corner of the continent an obscure and an unlamented 

 grave. 



Thus, those talents which were formed to do honour 

 to human nature, and to the country which gave them 

 birth, have been nipped in the bud by the frosts of 

 poverty and scorn, and their unhappy possessor lies in an 

 unknown and nameless tomb, who might, under happier 

 circumstances, have risen to the highest pinnacle of am- 

 bition and renown. 



MELANCHOLY HOURS.— No. IIL 



" Few know that elegance of soul refin'd 

 Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy 

 From melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride 

 Of tasteless splendour and magniticence 

 Can e'er afford." 



"WaRTON's Melanchohj. 



In one of my midnight rambles down the side of the 

 Trent, the river which waters the place of my nativity, 

 as I was musing on the various evils which darken the 

 life of man, and which have their rise in the malevolence 

 and ill-nature of his fellows, the sound of a flute from 

 an adjoining copse attracted my attention. The tune it 

 played was mournful yet soothing. It was suited to 

 the solemnity of the hour. As the distant notes came 

 wafted at intervals on my ear, now with gradual swell, 

 then dying away on the silence of the night, I felt the 

 tide of indignation subside within me, and give place to 

 the solemn calm of repose. I listened for some time in 

 breathless ravishment. The strain ceased, yet the sounds 

 still vibrated on my heart, and the visions of bliss 

 which they excited still glowed on my imagination. I 



