But 'tis not the innocent to destroy, Afar in the Desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: By the wild-deer's haunt, and the buffalo's glen; Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze; By the skirts of gray forests o'ergrown with wild vine; In the vley, where the wild ass is drinking his fill. With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: Afar in the Desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: Where the white man's foot hath never passed, And the quivered Koranna or Bechuan Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan : A region of emptiness, howling and drear, Which man hath abandoned from famine and fear: Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, And the bat flitting forth from his old hollow stone; Tell to the heart, in its pensive mood, That this is-Nature's solitude. And here while the night-winds round me sigh, And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky, As I sit apart by the caverned stone, Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone, And feel as a moth in the Mighty Hand ROBERT MONTGOMERY. The REV. ROBERT MONTGOMERY obtained a numerous circle of readers and admirers, although his poetry was stilted and artificial, and was severely criticised by Macaulay and others. The glitter of his ornate style, and the religious nature of his subjects, kept up his productions (with the aid of incessant puffing) for several years, but they have sunk into neglect. His principal works are, The Omnipresence of the Deity," Satan,' 'Luther,' Messiah,' and 'Orford.' He wrote also various religious prose works, and was highly popular with many persons as a divine. He was preacher at Percy Chapel, Charlotte Street, Bedford Square, London, and died in 1855, aged forty-seven. Description of a Maniac. Down yon romantic dale, where hamlets few Dwells the poor mindless, pale-faced maniac boy: To greet the glowing fancies of the sky; He loves to commune with the fields and floods: Thus, like a living dream, apart from men, The Starry Heavens. Ye quenchless stars! so eloquently bright, Ir. lambent beauty looking from the skies! WILLIAM HERBERT. The HON. and REV. WILLIAM HERBERT (1778-1847) published in 1806 a series of translations from the Norse, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. Those from the Norse, or Icelandic tongue, were generally admired, and the author was induced to venture on an original poem founded on Scandinavian history and manners. The work was entitled 'Helga,' and was published in 1815. We extract a few lines descriptive of a northern spring, bursting out at once into verdure : With changeful pulse, the uncertain breeze; But sudden on the wondering sight Yestreen the mountain's rugged brow Was mantled o'er with dreary snow; The sun set red behind the hill, And every breath of wind was still; But ere he rose, the southern blast A veil o'er heaven's blue arch had cast; Thick rolled the clouds, and genial rain Poured the wild deluge o'er the plain. Fair glens and verdant vales appear, And warmth awakes the budding year Oh, 'tis the touch of fairy hand That wakes the spring of northern land! And, as he hails the melting snows, It warms not there by slow degrees, The heathcock claps his wings and crows. After a long interval of silence, Mr. Herbert came forward in 1838 with an epic poem, entitled 'Attila,' founded on the establishment of Christianity by the discomfiture of the mighty attempt of the Gothic king to establish a new antichristian dynasty upon the wreck of the temporal power of Rome at the end of the term of 1200 years, to which its duration had been limited by the forebodings of the heathens. He published also an able historical treatise on 'Attila and his Predecessors' (1838). Mr. Herbert wrote some tales, a volume of sermons, and various treatises on botany and other branches of natural history. His select works were published in two volumes in 1842. He originally studied law, and was for some time a member of the House of Commons, where he was likely to rise into distinction, had he not withdrawn from public life, and taken orders in the church. He died dean of Manchester. Musings on Eternity.-From Attila.' How oft, at midnight, have I fixed my gaze With thousand spheres illumined; each perchance Wheel round the God of nature. Vain desire! . To work in trembling my salvation here, All those whom nature twined around my heart Denuded of their love! Where are ye gone, And shall we wake from the long sleep of death, To the still grave, making the memory Of all my earliest time a thing wiped out, Were gathered round the blithe paternal board! Vouchsafed a clue to man, who bade us trust EBENEZER ELLIOTT. EBENEZER ELLIOTT, sprung from the manufacturing classes of England, and completely identified with them in feelings and opinions, was born at Masborough, in Yorkshire, March 7, 1781. His father was an iron-founder, and he himself wrought at this business for many years. He followed Crabbe in depicting the condition of the poor as miserable and oppressed, tracing most of the evils he deplores to the social and political institutions of his country. He was not, however, a destructive,' as the following epigram shews: What is a Communist? One who has yearnings For equal division of unequal earnings. The laws relating to the importation of corn were denounced by Elliott as specially oppressive, and he inveighed against them with a fervour of manner and a harshness of phraseology which ordinary minds feel as repulsive, even while acknowledged as flowing from the offended benevolence of the poet. His vigorous and exciting political verses helped, in no small degree, to swell the cry which at length compelled the legislature to abolish all restrictions on the importation of corn. For thee, my country, thee, do I perform, Sternly, the duty of a man born free, Heedless, though ass, and wolf, and venomous worm, Fortunately, the genius of Elliott redeemed his errors of taste: his Shortly after his death, two To the Bramble Flower. While silent showers are falling slow, A sweet air lifts the little bough, Lone whispering through the bush! But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring, The fresh green days of life's fair spring, Scorned bramble of the brake! once more The Excursion. Bone-weary, many-childed. trouble-tried! This day, drink health from nature's mountain-bowl; |