MRS. NORTON. FROM THE SENSE OF BEAUTY. Nor only these thy presence woo, In the deep well-springs of the human heart, When most imprison'd; causing tears to start As, with a sigh, At the bright close of some rare holiday, He sees the branches wave, the waters play- Thee, childhood's heart confesses-when he sees Who wild across the grassy meadow springs, Pursues the uncertain prize, Lured by the velvet glory of its wings! And so from youth to age-yea, till the end— An unforsaking, unforgetting friend, Thou hoverest round us! And when all is o'er, Comes faint and fitfully, to usher nigh Making it sweet to die! The sick man's ears are faint-his eyes are dim- To kneel about his bed God's white-robed angels, who around him stand, And wave his spirit to "the Better Land!" THIS unfortunate victim of calumny, whose name is still associated with our most tender and mournful recollections, was born in February, 1806, and was eldest daughter of Francis, late Marquis of Hastings, and Flora, Countess of Loudon in her own right. Thus highly distinguished by a birth which connected her with the ancient royal family of Scotland, and that of the present dynasty of Great Britain, she was also endowed with beauty, talents, and amiable manners, so as to be the delight of her own domestic and social circle, and an ornament of elevated society. She received the appointment of Lady of the Bedchamber to the Duchess of Kent; and while in this office, the disease of which she ultimately died (an enlargement of the liver) excited those injurious whispers which led to results that are still fresh in the memory of the public. She died at Buckingham Palace on the 5th of July, 1839, and was interred in the family vault at Loudon, Ayrshire. Lady Flora had for several years been requested by her friends to publish her poems: but this she steadfastly refused, from her delicate aversion to public notice. Just previous to her death, however, she had collected them for publication, "with the view," as she expressed it, "of dedicating whatever profits might be derived from them to the service of God, in the parish where her mother's family have long resided." During the present year they have been published by her sister, and their excellence is such as to deepen our regret for the loss which has been sustained by her untimely death, as well as to increase our indignation for the causes that occasioned it. THE SWAN SONG. Grieve not that I die young.-Is it not well Ah! who would linger till bright eyes grow dim, Thus would I pass away-yielding my soul THE CROSS OF VASCO DA GAMA. We have breasted the surge, we have furrow'd the wave, We have spread the white sail to the favouring breeze; We have sped from the land of the fair and the brave, Widely to wander o'er untried seas. There is hope in our hearts, there is joy on our brow, Sadly we swept through the sounding deep, Spread we the sail to the winged wind- Cross of the south, in the deep blue heaven- SONG. When first I met thee, on thy brow And brightly beam'd the eyes which now Those downcast lashes shade. Thou mov'dst an airy form of light, A thing almost divine; I might not dim thy fortunes bright For I had seen the dreams depart Which once illusion shed; Had known the chillness of the heart When youth's gay charm is fled. Thou wert so bless'd, thou could'st not share The darkness of my doom; Thou wert a flower too sweet, too rare, To cheer the desert's gloom. But years are past, and thou hast known The light of cloudless mirth is flown, Chasten'd and calm the hope appears That gilds thy placid brow; THE END. PRINTED BY A. SWEETING, BARTLETT'S BUILDINGS, Holborn. |