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FROM THE SENSE OF BEAUTY.
Nor only these thy presence woo,
Thee, childhood's heart confesses-when he sees The heavy rose-bud crimson in the breeze, When the red coral wins his eager gaze, Or the warm sunbeam dazzles with its rays. Thee, through his varied hours of rapid joy, The eager BoyWho wild across the grassy meadow springs, And still with sparkling eyes 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, And earth's most loved illusions please no more, Thou stealest gently to the couch of Death; There, while the lagging breath Comes faint and fitfully, to usher nigh Consoling visions from thy native sky, Making it sweet to die! The sick man's ears are faint-his eyes are dimBut his heart listens to the heavenward hymn, And his soul sees—in lieu of that sad band, Who come with mournful tread To kneel about his bedGoils 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 cirele, 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 fault 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 publica. tion, “ 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
Let me depart!
I would depart!
Thus would I pass away-yielding my soul
Let me depart!
THE CROSS OF VASCO DA GAMA.
We have breasted the surge, we have furrow'd the wave,
round our lofty prow, For the bright cross is beaming before us now!
Cross of the south, in the deep blue heaven-
When first I met thee, on thy brow
For I had seen the dreams depart
PRINTED BY A. NWERTING, BARTLETT'S BUILDINGS, HOLBORN.