But youth and health are buoyant still,
Soon hope display'd her visions gay;
As on the snow-crown'd Alpine hill
The wintry suns resplendent play,
So bright the lovely dreams distill!
So transitory fade away!

Again her dimpled smiles arise,

Her mild eyes beam, her roses bloomAh! fatal are those love-fraught eyes! Gay witching smiles, ye seal her doom! Detested name!

For Fitzroy saw.

Follow'd by curses low and deep; He boasts the fell seducer's fame,

Through him unnumber'd wretches weep: Or, happier thus to hide their shame, Low in the grave his victims sleep. He saw her fair; and soon his darts

Assiduous the destroyer proves.What can avail his thousand arts? What shaft can pierce a heart that loves? But nearer, dearer sorrows press;

Fell poverty's malignant train, Disease and anguish and distress,

At once o'erwhelm the drooping Jane.

No longer in his sinewy hands

Her aged father holds the plough; Her mother's wheel all useless stands; And Cherry dies, their only cow! The rent day comes; and many a pang Pierces the heart of Gerard Grey; Till seized by sickness' iron fang, Gerard had still been first to pay.

But now he from his home must go,—
The cherish'd home of sixty years!
And in the dread abode of woe,

The workhouse! close his days in tears.
Poor hapless Jane! still Fitzroy press'd,
And offered stores of glittering gold;
But faithful still that gentle breast;
To every love but William's cold.

She wept her parents' wretched fate,
But still a lingering hope arose;

That her own William, rich and great,
Would come and banish all their woes.

Toiling and weeping, hoping still,
The dreary hours slow glided by;
When lo! (the messenger of ill!)
A soldier met her eager eye.

He asked her name, she answered not,

6

But, Where is William?' breathless said,His dreadful errand soon she caught,

That William, so beloved, was dead!

'Vails not to tell Corunna's day,

When Britain's sons the war tide stem,
Scatter their foes like ocean spray,
But mourn, alas! their purest gem:

For ever shorn the brightest ray
That shone in Valour's diadem!-

Then William fell; and, ere he died,
Gave to his faithful comrade's care

The ring he destined for his bride
And a bright ringlet of her hair.

And ere he died, he bade him say

No pang had he in that dread night, Save for that sweet one far away,

More dear than health or life or light! For her my parting breath shall pray, And we shall meet in regions bright!' She sinks subdued; but not in death, Though cold and pale as death she lies; Again revives her quivering breath! Again she opes her weary eyes!

To life, to misery she wakes!

A heavy sense of endless woe!

Her frame with trembling chillness shakes; Or burns with wildly fevered glow.

She names not him for ever gone!

Her tears are dried and hushed her sighs;
Her cold heart seems transform'd to stone;
But lightning flashes from her eyes,
And in her wild and hollow tone

Despair and madness seem to rise.
O'erclouded was that reason bright,
That mental vision pure and clear,
Quenched that mild ray of heavenly light,
Strong to direct, and warm to cheer.
Rose to her eyes that blood-stained beach
Where William's corse unburied lay;
Rung in her ears the dismal screech
Of vultures hovering over their prey.
Oh! is there none to speak of peace,
To calm that brain to frenzy driven?
Bid that despairing anguish cease,

And gently guide her thoughts to Heaven?

Heart-broken, hopeless of relief,
Her parents' bitter sorrows flow;
Not William's death their only grief,
To-morrow from their home they go.

Warm from the heart, her mother's tears
Bathe Jane's cold breast and icy cheek;
The sad appeal her bosom hears,

In fondness strong, in reason weak.

Gone is that guiding ray divine,
Unheard Religion's heavenly call,
Wit, virtue, sense, no more ye shine!
But filial love survives ye all!

Again the tempter comes; nor vain
His offer'd love, his lavish'd gold;
'Give to my parents wealth, and Jane
Shall Fitzroy find no longer cold!'

He came, but fled ere morning ray;
At noon again he sought the cot,—
There Jane a self-slain victim lay,
For ever closed her hapless lot.

O God! in thine eternal day

May Mercy's tears the record blot! Her virtues shine in bright array! Her errors and her end forgot!

MISS MITFORD.

STILLED is the tempest's blustering roar;
Hoarse dash the billows of the sea;-

But who on Kilda's dismal shore

Cries

Have I burnt my harp for thee!'

"Tis Col, wild raving to the gale,

That howls o'er heath and blasted lea, Still as he eyes the lessening sail,

Cries Have I burnt my harp for thee!'

Bright was thy fame in Bara's isle,

Sweet bard! where many a rival sung;
Oft hadst thou waked the tear and smile
As soft thy harp melodious rung:

Oft hadst thou touched the female heart
(To love I ween! and pity true),
Till Mora came to hear thy art;-
Mora, with eye of softening blue.

The maid he prized above the throng
That press'd to hear his raptured strain;-
The maid, who melted at the song,
But trifled with a lover's pain:

Long had he borne the treacherous smile
That cherished hope and left despair;
The promised bliss which female guile
As oft dispersed in empty air.