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1819.]

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Original and Select Poetry.

degree, be considered in a political point of view. His "Ode to the Volunteers of Britain," "The Battle of Alexandria," and "The Ocean," afford such honorable testimony of his patriotism, that no one can dispute his pretensions to rank as a loyal bard; and if his claims as an editor admit of any question it must arise from his not being at all times perfectly understood when he has given expression to his opinions, which he always does honestly and impartially. Forced by the profession in which accident, not choice had placed him, to write upon political subjects, he uniformly looks at every question he is obliged to comment upon, in the Iris, abstractedly, without reference to the party from whence the measure originated, or to that by which it is opposed. Of all men breathing Mr. Montgomery is perhaps the last whose constitutional or acquired habit would lead him to political hostility but necessitated, sometimes, however irksome, to give expression to his opinion, by way of making the labour pleasant, he often indulges the sportiveness of his fancy, and in his retrospects or leading articles, whilst he penetrates to the very heart's core of his subject, he exhibits such a vein of good-natured, though deeply-searching satire, and embellishes his reasoning with so much wit and pathos, such a playfulness of style, and such a complete mastery of language, that superficial readers almost constantly set him down as the partizan of the party, who, at the moment, take the same side of the question, which the editor of the "Iris," from its own abstract merits, and his own unbiassed view of the subject, has been induced to advocate. The same erroneous mode of judgment has been applied at other times on reading his paper, by persons who, forgetting that an honest man is of no party but that of truth, as it may appear to his own eyes, have accused him of tergiver.

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sation and political instability, of being a deserter from a standard under which he never marched, and from a corps in which he had never enrolled himself, Mr. Montgomery, in his capacity of editor, has taken a proud because it is an independent stand, between two great contending parties, which divide opinions on great public measures. Не may have decided erroneously in some particular cases, (for whose judgment is infallible ?) but the expression of his views have always borne internal evidence of being honest ones.

This memoir has imperceptibly taken possession of more space than is usually appropriated to articles of biography in periodical publications: and yet for the gratification of such as may wish to know something of the person of its subject, it may be proper to add, that he is rather below the middle stature; slightly formed, but well proportioned. His coinplexion is fair and his hair yel low. His features have a melancholy but interesting expressión when his ima gination is at rest; but when that is awakened by the animating influence of conversation (especially on questions of importance or of feeling) his whole countenance (and particularly his eyes, which beam intelligence) is irradiated by his genius. His modesty, and seclusion of manner, in the company of strangers, have a tendency to hide from common observation the riches of his mind; but when familiar intercourse has broken the talisman which seals his lips on introduction, his colloquial powers are found to be of the first order. His ideas have an able auxiliary in his eloquence; for language is subservient to his will, and though in a war of words an opponent must often smart beneath the lash of his wit, and the severity of his retort, the amiableness of his nature instantly furnishes a balm to heal such wounds,

ORIGINAL AND SELECT POETRY.

AN EASTERN DAY,

In Imitation of THOMAS MOORE, Esq. Ir the heart ever loves to repose in the dreams

Of Paradise, pictured in flowers and beamsIf the glimpses of bliss, alldelight,all elysian, E'er flashed on the soul in its loveliest vision; If the spirit partakes of the light it surveys, Its essence compounded of roses and rays; With a bound, such as Fancy must every where make

NEW MONTHLY MAO.-No. 60.

A.

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wings;

[Jan. 1,

The gleams are now glancing from domes of Semars

In the quick, twinkling motion that plays

upon stars:

And the pilgrim his beads at this holy hour counts,

In the cool cedar groves, where the Hyaline

founts

Thro' beds of pure amber roll mellowly on, In a sweet pensive murmur, when daylight is gone;

And beauteously wild, with their frontlets of pearls,

From their bright mountain homes come the Jessamere girls.

Like the flower that till night all its loveliness keeps,

And spreads its perfume, whilst each other So the young Indian maids to the evening' one sleeps ;

gay duties

Spring forward at once, in a line of young beauties,

And reveal, now and then, in the mirth of their dances,

The visions of love in the light of their glances;

Whilst the timbrel, and tabor, and nightingale's song,

Join Echo's wild melody all the night long. Tullamore, Sept. 1818.

Το

J. F.

Whilst the falling of waters-green rising. Who was complaining that she had forgot

of hills,

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ten her Sister's Birth-day.

Grieve not tho' Fanny's birth-day's past
When days are bright and hours fly fast
Without one joyous rhyme ;-
Who measures bliss by time?
When sorrow dims our darkling way

Such lonely gleams are dear;
But who can mark one happy day,
If happy thro' the year?
Such sweet forgetfulness be thine;
So ever live and love;

No need of gift, or votive line,

The fond glad heart to prove.

STANZAS,

Written at Halton Castle, Cheshire.

E.

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1819.]

Original and Select Poetry.

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LINES,

STANZAS.

523

Asl:'st thou, why from gay circles stealing
I love to bend my lonely way?—
Oh! 'tis because the burst of feeling
No sordid souls are near to stay!
For, not to the cold crowd unheeding,
Would I e'er seem a grief to feel;
The wounds from which the breast is bleed-
ing,

They probe-without the power to heal! I want not pity from the throng,

Who need the tears they feign to give;→→ I only wish to pass along

Unmarked unnoticed still to grieve.

A. A. W. 1816.

Written on the Field of Waterloo.
(From the Courier.)

YE are gone to your narrow beds,
Ye forms of the martyr'd brave!
The green-grass sod springs o'er your heads,
And the wind blows round your grave:
But the green sod that blooms above
Is water'd by the tears of love;
And the wild wind that wanders by,
Is mingled with Affection's sigh.

Oh! when ye sunk on your bed of death,
No gentle form hung over you;
No fond eye caught your parting breath,
Or sunk in anguish from the view.
But o'er you, in that hour of fate,

Bent the dark Gaul's revengeful form; And the stern glance of ruthless hate, Gleam'd dreadful 'mid the hurrying storm. No mourning dirge did o'er you swell,

Nor winding sheet your limbs inclose, For you was toll'd no passing bell;

No tomb was rais'd where you repose; For your bed of death was the battle ground, 'Twas there they heap'd your funeral mound, And all unhallow'd was your grave, Save by the ashes of the brave. Then to the warrior's memory

A monument of love we'll raise; And Veneration's heart-felt sigh

Shall waft their fame to distant days. Daughters of Albion! swell the strain; More loudly raise the funeral song; And, wide o'er all the fatal plain,

The record of their deeds prolong. Ye fix'd, oh, ye brave! when for us ye died, On every heart an endless claim; When ye sunk in the battle's blood-red tide, Ye bought by your death, a deathless

name,

More great than the warrior's of ages gone,
More great than the heroes of Marathon;
They, from one land, a tyrant hurl'd,
Ye crush'd the tyrant of the world.
The hour that stopt your course for ever;
Stopt many a gay heart's joyous swell;
Sweet hopes were nipt, to blossom never,
When, smote, in glory's lap you fell.

ARION.

The patriot, to the hero's claim,
Bows his proud soul, with grief opprest;
But there are those, with whom their name
Is still more lov'd, more fondly blest:
For wheresoe'er we turn our eyes,

This wide-extended plain around,
The Father, Brother, Husband lies
Beneath the undulating mound.
How many an eye, ye truly brave!
Has thanked you for the lives you gave.
Ye fondly lov'd! how many a tear
Has witness'd to your virtues here:
Call not the warrior's grave unblest;

Though, 'mid this silent solitude,
The grey stone rise not o'er his breast,
Nor holy pile may here be view'd;
There is a charm more sweet-more pure
Than human art has ever thrown;
Yes, there are records, more secure
Than marble bust, or sculptur'd stone;
The gentle sigh of sorrowing love,

The hapless mourner's silent tear, Shall here that better guerdon prove, That holier calm, shall whisper here. When Egypt's tombs shall all be rent,

And earth's proud temples swept away, Your deeds, a deathless monument, Shall guard your glory from decay, pr

THE LATE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA, On seeing her Bust in the King's chamber

in 1812.

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(From the German of Breuner.)
Thou'rt gone from us-to weep no more-T
Thy day of grief-of glory's o'er-
In Fortune's last extremity,
Princess-'t was well for thee to die!
Death calms the wretched-frees the slave
Can insult reach thee in the grave?
The tyrant now may taunt and scorn-
No more thy noble spirit's torn-
Oh! for the hour-a freeman's steel
Shall teach his callous heart to feel;
Oh! for the time he lies as low-
Curs'd deep-not bless'd, as Angel, thou;
I saw thee-never left mine eye
Thy first proud glance of majesty—
Proud, yet most sweet, a starting tear
Told that a woman's heart was there.

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Thy cheek is still before me-pale
As the faint leaf on Autumn's gale-
Then, lighted up with burning tinge,
As o'er it from thine eye's dark fringe
Came drop by drop, the tears of pain,
At some new galling of thy chain;
Some slighting sulien courtesy,
Of him who could not honour thee.
Fiend of the Earth!--Napoleon !—

STANZAS.

[Jan. 1,

(From the Franklin Gazette.) "This world is all a fleeting shew."

There is an hour of peaceful rest To mourning wand'rers given : There is a tear for souls distrest

MOORE.

What could'st thou of such hearts have A balm for every wounded breast

known?

Yet there was one who felt-who feels
The wound time widens-but not heals;
Pierc'd to the soul with every sting
That Fate might point against a king;
The man had one more misery
To meet and met it losing thee.
Thou'rt past from mortal to divine;
Princess, thy chamber's now thy shrine:
No more to beam, no more to weep,
Thine eyes are in the grave's dark sleep;
Yet lives there in this breathless stone
What spells the eye to gaze upon.
I cannot tell the charm---the eye
Is caught, fix'd, fill'd, unconscious why.
"Tis not thy soft yet stately brow,
Sweet stooping eyelid-hair's rich flow,
'Tis the deep grace that seems to wind
O'er all---the relique of thy mind:
And this, the end of birth and bloom,
Tears, terrors, exile, and the tomb-
No; the stern heart that laid thee there
Shall drop with blood for every tear;
For this, from fame, hope, mankind driven,
As sure as there's a power in heaven→→
That crime's not made to be forgiven.

'Tis found above-in heaven! There is a soft, a downy bed,

'Tis fair as breath of even;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose-in heaven!

There is a home for weeping souls,

By sin and sorrow driven; When tost on Life's tempestuous shoals, Where storms arise and ocean rolls,

And all is drear-but heaven!

There faith lifts up the tearful eye,

The heart with anguish riven; And views the tempest passing by, The evening shadows quickly fly,

And all serene-in heaven!

There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given;
There rays divine disperse the gloom,
Beyond the confines of the tomb
Appears the dawn of heaven!

THE CABINET.

INFANCY OF GEORGE III.

EVERY circumstance, however minute, which exemplifies traits in the character of our excellent and beloved sovereign, must, at the present moment, be peculiarly interesting to all hearts of feeling and loyalty to such, therefore, the following domestic particulars are confidently addressed: they are given on the authority of a lady," who, when living, was personally acquainted with his Majesty's nurse and her daughter.

The King, as most people have heard, was a seven month's child, and, from that circumstance, so weakly at the period of his birth, that serious apprehen sions were entertained that it would be impossible to rear him. It was, in consequence, thought advisable to wave the strict etiquette hitherto maintained, of having for the royal infant a nobly descended nurse, in favour of one in the middle ranks of life the fine, healthy, fresh-coloured wife of a gardener, pro

*The writer's mother.

bably the head gardener of one of the palaces. This person, beside the recommendations of an excellent constitution, and much experimental skill, was characterized by qualities which so endeared her to the King, that his attachment towards her, never, during her existence, experienced the slightest diminution. She possessed great quickness of feeling, much goodness of heart, with a disposition both disinterested and candid.

The two former of these qualities appear to have instantly opened her affections to the nursling offered to her care; not, however, from pride, at the idea of its being a babe of royal blood; but from the maternal tenderness excited while contemplating the delicate little being, whose frail tenure on: life she was confident, under her management, would become strong and permanent. These feelings caused her at the first proposal cheerfully to undertake the anxious charge, but when it was made known to her, that, according to

1819.1

Beauty in England, France, and Italy.

the court etiquette, the royal infant

up,

525*

could not be allowed to sleep with her- her misfortune, or from.

from an etiquette so cold, and, in the present case, so likely, in her opinion, to prove prejudicial, she instantly revolted, and, in terms both warm and blunt, thus expressed herself:-"Not sleep with me! then you may nurse the boy yourselves."

To no compromise (or rather reasoning) offered, would she listen; but continued resolutely to refuse to take charge of the roval infant, if bound to observe a ceremony which no argument could make her think otherwise than alike unnatural and unhealthy.

This refusal of an office, which many persons would have been ambitious of filling under any restrictions whatever, upon motives, too, so purely disinterested, convinced those with whom she was in debate, of her conscientious belief, that unless the infant prince was intrusted to her sole management, she must, in accepting the charge, engage to act in opposition to her own judgment, and thus sacrifice what she considered her duty to him. Influenced by this conviction, they properly represented the affair to the powers by whom they were employed; in consequence of which, the point of court ceremony was yielded to Mrs. To this conscientious obstinacy on her part, it is more than probable that the nation owes the blessing it has for so many years enjoyed, of being governed by one of the best of men, and of kings, that ever united in himself the virtues which grace both characters. But to return

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The affection of his Majesty for his nurse grew with his growth and strengthened with his strength;" but as his power did not keep pace with his increasing regard, it was long before he could prove that regard to her and her family as substantially as his heart yearned to do. His income was considered, even at that time, as too limited for one of his high rank; and of course, though regulated by the strictest prudence and economy, he had little to spare, from the necessary expenses of his household, for the gratification of his generous feelings. These were often distressingly called forth by the situation of his nurse, who, after he was grown

extravagance, was frequently in great want of money. On these occasions she always went to the Prince, well knowing that if he could relieve their distress, it would immediately be done; and if not that his affectionate sympathy would soothe her mind.Never was she disappointed of this consolation; for when the Prince found himself unable to administer to their exigencies, he has actually been known to mingle his tears with her's-a sympathy which speaks volumes in love and admiration of the heart that felt it.

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Whether his nurse lived to taste his Majesty's generosity to the full extent he felt it-if ever heard by the writer, memory has lost: but the daughter, who married, (the writer thinks & doctor of divinity, and was, perhaps, the King's foster sister,) was made laundress to his Majesty-a sinecure place of good emolument.

BEAUTY IN ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND
ITALY.

BY M. STENDHAL.

Ancona, May 27.-I met, at St. Cirac, a Russian general, a friend of Erfurt, who had just come from Paris.

A physical peculiarity of the French shocked my Russian friend very much; the dreadful leanness of the most of the danseuses at the Opera. In fact, it seems to me, on reflection, that many of our fashionable women who are extremely slender, have caused this circumstance to enter into the idea of beauty. Leanness is in France considered necessary to an elegant air. In Italy, people think, very rationally, that the first condition of it is the air of health, without which there is no voluptuousness.

The Russian is of opinion that beauty is very rare among the French ladies. He. maintains that the finest figures he saw at Paris were English women.

Out of a

If we take the trouble to count in the Bois de Boulogne, out of a hundred French women, eighty are agreeable, and hardly one beautiful. hundred English women, thirty are grotesque, forty are decidedly ugly, twenty tolerably well, though mussades, and ten divinities on this earth, from the freshness and innocence of their beauty.

Out of a hundred Italian women, thirty are caricatures, with face and neck besmeared with rouge and powder, fifty are beautiful, but with no other attraction than an air of voluptuousness;

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