TRANSLATION OF A SONNET OF
DESBARREAUX'.
"Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'équité."
GREAT GOD, thy judgments are with wisdom fill'd,
And still to mercy is thy soul inclin'd;
But I have sinn'd, that though thy goodness will'd,
Thy justice conld not aught of pardon find.
Yes, Lord, the measure of my crime so great,
But choice of vengeance to thy pow'r it leaves,—
Thy interest's self forbids a happier fate,
And e'en thy pity of all hope bereaves.
Then wreak thy wrath,-thy glories thus require,—
Nor heed the tears that from my eyes
Strike-speed thy bolt-consume with lightning's fire;
And though I perish, I'll adore the blow.
But on what part can thy dread thunder fall,—
Does not a Saviour's blood bedew, redeem them all?
ON THE DEATH OF B. W. MARSH, Esq. (of rungpore.)
WHEN MARSH, the favour'd child of Nature, died,
Nature herself, in grief retiring, sigh'd:
"Who'll now transcribe my calendar of Spring,
My buds in embryo, or the varied wing
Of birds, that haunt the unfrequented wood,
Or lave their painted plumage in the flood?
Who now will tread the desert's dangerous way,
Where Flora shuns th' irradiate blaze of day,
And blooms untouch'd,-but by the spicy breeze
That whispering fans through undiscover'd trees;
A fragrant tribe, that to the viewless sky
Now blush unnoticed-unregarded die !"
A Muse replied—" Not grieved alone thy breast!
True, none like him could scan thy painted vest,
Could mark the laws, the varied ways pursue
Of all that walk'd, that swam, that crept, that flew ;
Or plunging downward to thy midmost earth,
Trace matter's form through every chymic birth;
Yet these alone not fill'd his spacious mind,
Long is the train of science still behind;
Far as the realms of Knowledge spread around,
Thy favoured son in foremost rank was found;
And if aught solace Sympathy's fond tear,
Each Muse, each Grace, with thee shall weep o'er
Marsh's bier."
WHEN thunders crash, or lightning rends,
When angry Jove in storms descends,
My mind from terror what defends?
Yes-tho' the god descend in showers,
Or tho' the sky with threatening low'rs,
Thou canst beguile the tedious hours-
On every hand when woes appear,
To raise the sigh, or claim the tear,—
What then my pensive heart can cheer ?—
When thoughts of home came o'er my mind,
Of distant friends I've left behind,
In what can I then comfort find ?—
When absent from my lovely fair,
Or doom'd by her to nurse despair,
What then alleviates my care?-
Alone, without a friend to warm,
Without a book my thoughts to calm,
What gives to solitude a charm?
When sober mirth in wine is drown'd,
And noisy Folly roars around,
In what for me is refuge found?—
Or when thro' business toils I wade,
Those toils by profit scarce repaid,
Thou lend'st thy sweet refreshing aid-
The fair deceive,-no friends are true,
ON THE DEATH OF COL. ALEX. MACLEOD, H.M. 59TH Regt.
HARK! the deep muffled drum's low sadd'ning sound,
The soldier's heavy foot-fall wends this way;
With martial pomp they seek the sacred ground
Where they their honour'd burthen soon must lay.
Halt! soldiers, halt! let the dull earth receive
The cold remains of one beloved and brave;
With trem❜lous hands, and hearts that inly grieve,
They fire the volley o'er the soldier's grave.
What virtue graced not thy heroic mind?
In duty just, in friendship most sincere ;
Thy name shall leave a soothing charm behind,
To check the tears that friends shed o'er thy bier.
Son of the valiant! though no more we view
Thy manly form,—yet shall thy honour'd name
Live in the mem'ry of the brave and true,
And dark CORNELIS' fight record thy fame!
Glory shall bind a wreath in days to come,
And "BRAVE MACLEOD" be sculptur'd on thy tomb!
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