1821.] 
Original Poetry. 423 
The wanton’s wiles 
Their time beguiles : 
Link’d with a harlot 
Clothed in scarlet, 
What think they of the poor man’s woe ? 
Do they feel for the poor, 
Or their suffering's deplore, 
Or strive to relieve ?-—their care ’tis below. 
It was a sight of horror which life must re¬ 
tain, * 
Which time to obliterate striveth in vain. 
And when 1 heard the wretched victim’s 
st °iy> 
I curs d all tyrants and vain glory. 
The young man I had seen that day 
Degraded to a slave, 
Had foremost fought in blood’s affray, 
Most gallant of the brave ! 
Lur d by the scarlet coat and gilded glare, 
He left his friends, his lass belov’d—his 
home. 
In all the oppressive miseries to share, 
With those who in the field of slaughter 
roam. 
Retiirn’d alas ! too late repeutant, found 
His aged parents in the narrow grave— 
His disobedience blighted all around; 
His love distracted, and himself a slave ! 
What wonder, then, that he who bore 
A feeling heart—was stricken to the 
core ? 
What wonder, that his wretched soul 
Sought comfort from the life-destroying 
bowl ? 
That he who once, was foremost in the 
rank, 
His hopes all fled, bis spirits sank, 
Should be less soldier-like and gay, 
And that from muster he had staid away. 
This was his crime—for this a soldier 
brave, 
Was pinion’d, stripp’d, and whipp’d into a 
slave ! M. 
THE ORIGIN OF THE DIMPLE. 
Cupid once toying with his mother fair, 
And forming dew-bright rose-wreaths for 
her hair, 
It chanc’d a thorn, as one fell t’wards the 
ground, 
Inflicted on her face a grievous wound. 
Oh! now she fills the grove with dire 
alarms. 
Not greater when Adonis fled her arms. 
Silence, dear parent, the dissembler cries, 
Lest Jove’s dread belts should threaten 
from the skies; 
Lo ! to amend you for this unmeant harm, 
Henceforth your face shall boast a lovelier 
charm. 
Then wiping with a silken tress away 
Two lovely tears that in her blue eyes lay, 
Toying, he slyly snatch’d a kiss, and staid 
Till he beheld her frowns relent, then said, 
Look in yon pure and favourite fountain’s 
glass, 
Methinks I’ve not impair’d that beauteous 
face. 
He paus’d :—with vain conceit her large 
soft eyes 
Venus casts o’er the brink in mute surprise. 
She smil’d—Osee Love’s dimples how they 
break! 
Like young twin stars of Heaven upon 
each cheek! 
Entort Smith. 
LINES. 
Written on a]blank leaf of Chalmers's Life 
of Mary Queen of Scots. 
Much injured Queen ! the hand of time 
At length hath rent the veil away 
That hid the face of truth ;—and Crime, 
Pierced by her deeply searching ray, 
Stands forth revealed 1—like him of yore. 
Who touched by the celestial spear 
Of bright Ithuriee, might no more 
His brooding form of darkness wear. 
But, quickly wrought on by the spell, 
Uprose, confessed, the Prince of Hell !* 
What, though whole ages have gone by 
Since first Hate strove upon thy name 
To breathe the blackest blight of shame. 
Through many a year with tearful eye 
Did history mark the wrongs thy fame 
Had suffered from her sons, till growing 
Indignant that the cloud of blame, 
Should mar the beams of brightness 
glowing 
Around sweet Pity’s thoughts of thee ; 
And still with its unceasing gloom 
Work for thee thus—beyond the tomb, 
The martyrdom of memory ! 
She bade Truth’s firmest champion wield 
His pen of adamant, and shield 
Thy all defenceless life of woes 
From the keen malice of thy foes ;— 
And on the heads of those who wrought 
Thy prisonment and death,—and thought 
That theirVshould be immortal lies. 
Roll back their own dark calumnies,_ 
Stamping the brand of infamy i 
Detraction had made red for thee C 
On its own brow eternally! \ 
W. 
Crookbarrow-hilly near Worcester , the 
largest Barrow in England. 
Grave of the mighty slain ! conspicuous 
far 
A lasting labor of our Celtic sires, 
When the scythe-car roll’d rapid to the 
war— 
The sylvan record not in vain aspires - 
What, though oblivion veils the chieftain’s 
name, 
Deathless his fame ! 
* Vide Milton. 
Nature! 
