Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
Poetry .
NUPTIAL ODE . Messrs . Blackwood ancl Sons , have just published a " Nuptial Ode on the marriage of II . E . H . the Prince of AVales" from the pen of Bro . Professor Aytoun , of Edinburgh , —from which we give a passage in which the Princess and the Prince are in turn addressed . — Fair as a poet ' s dream , serenely bright ,
Veiled in the charm of maiden modesty , The Eose of Denmark comes , the Eoyal Bride ! 0 loveliest Eose ! our paragon and pride , Choice of the Prince whom England holds so dear—What homage shall we pay To one who has no peer ? What can the bard or wilder'd minstrel
say-More than the peasant , who on bended knee , Breathes from his heart an earnest prayer for thee ? Words are not fair , if what they would express Is fairer still ; so lovers in dismay Stand all abash'd before that loveliness They worship most , but find no words to pray .
Too sweet for incense ! Take our loves instead , Most freely , truly , and devoutly given ; Our prayers for blessings on that gentle head , For earthly happiness and rest in heaven ! May never sorrow dim those dovelike eyes ; But peace as pure as reigned in jiaradise ,
Calm ancl untainted on creation ' s eve , Attend thee still ! May holy angels keep Wafcek o ' er thy path , and guard thee in thy sleep . ' Long years of joy and mutual love be thine , Ancl all that mortals ask or can receive Of benediction from the hand Divine !
Most happy Prince . ' who such a priceless gem Hast set within thy royal diadem ; Heir of illustrious kings , what Avords can tell The joy that fills the nation ' s heart this clay ! If the fond wish of those who love thee well Could call clown blessings ; as the bounteous May
Showers blossom on the turf—as ocean spray Flies glittering o ' er the rocks—as summer rain Falls sweetly soft on some sequestered dell , Bidding the languid hero revive again—Then never surely Prince were like thee ! For in thy gentle nature Avell Ave see The manhood , worth , ancl valour of thy sires ,
Temper'd with a winsome nobleness ( The gloAV Avithout the rage of bickering fires ) , That shame it were and sin to love thee less . And though no human hand can lift the A * eil Of the dark future , or unfold tbe page Of that most atvful book , wherein the tale ,
To be accomplish'cl of the coining age Stands in eternal characters of doom—Through no prophetic voices from the tomb , Or mystic oracles of dim presage , Can tell us what shall be—our trust is high , Yea , in tbe highest ! He will be thy shield ,
Thy strength , thy stay , though all the world combine . Believing that , Ave fear no enemy ; Nor foreign war , nor treason unrevefll'd , Can shake thy house , or mar thy royal line : Dread none , great Prince ; our hearts and loves are thine .
Poetry.
A SCOTCH INCIDENT At the Pope ' s Head Inn ; or the article iu general request . A companion to the tooth-brush and hair-brush provided in American cabins for the use of passengers . Tom Campbell , the poet and great bard of Hope , Who wrote as we seldom shall witness" again ,
While travelling in Scotland put up by at Pope , Whereto he'd been driven by wind and rain ; He dined- —for poets , like others , must dine If on Haggis or Haddios deponent saith not . Tbe whisky was good , and did duty for wine , Aud he rang for the waiter , called Maggie I wot ;
Pray , lassie , a toothpick bring hither , says he , To wile away dullness this wet afternoon . So he pickt and reflected in deep reverie , Like a poet all struck by the light of the moon ; Shortly rush'd in the Avaiter and , curtsying low , Said , " pray sir have you wi' the toothpick aye dune ?
I only ask whether yere dune with it or no , For I ken 'twill be wautecl maybe verra sune . " " Oh , Mag , " said tho poet , " why such question ask me ? I suppose I may keep it and pick away yet . " "No , no , sir , it 'longs to the club , do ye see ; And they in the club-room an hour have met . "
Not Lost.
NOT LOST .
It is not lost , —tbe beautiful ! ¦ That lights our changeful skies , Although to dim its glory here Dark earth-born mists arise : The summer heaven ' s celestial blue , Tlie sunset's parting ray , The gorgeous clouds with purple hue , Those bave not passed away .
It is not lost , —the beautiful ! Sweet sounds we loved of yore Shall greet our ears in brighter worlds , "Not lost , but gone before ' . " Soft plaintive notes that seem'd to raise Dead feelings by their strain ; The music of our bygone clays Shall all come back again .
It is not lost , —the beautiful . ' The little star-eyed flowers That bloomed so brief a time on earth , We scarce could call them ours : Another clime shall give to them The life that here they lack , And we shall see each floral gem AVe treasured once—come back .
It is not lost , —the beautiful ! The long-remembered look , Where myriad rays of feeling play'd Like sunbeams on a brook : It will return—that transient gleam , And we shall see once more The light that only lit our dream , Far brighter than before .
It is not lost , —the beautiful ! These little sunbeams flown , Ave garnered with tbe things that hide In regions yet unknown : The time will come—and then his hand ( Whose pow ' r was ne ' ei in A * ain ) Shall loose the captive spirit's band , And call them back again .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
Poetry .
NUPTIAL ODE . Messrs . Blackwood ancl Sons , have just published a " Nuptial Ode on the marriage of II . E . H . the Prince of AVales" from the pen of Bro . Professor Aytoun , of Edinburgh , —from which we give a passage in which the Princess and the Prince are in turn addressed . — Fair as a poet ' s dream , serenely bright ,
Veiled in the charm of maiden modesty , The Eose of Denmark comes , the Eoyal Bride ! 0 loveliest Eose ! our paragon and pride , Choice of the Prince whom England holds so dear—What homage shall we pay To one who has no peer ? What can the bard or wilder'd minstrel
say-More than the peasant , who on bended knee , Breathes from his heart an earnest prayer for thee ? Words are not fair , if what they would express Is fairer still ; so lovers in dismay Stand all abash'd before that loveliness They worship most , but find no words to pray .
Too sweet for incense ! Take our loves instead , Most freely , truly , and devoutly given ; Our prayers for blessings on that gentle head , For earthly happiness and rest in heaven ! May never sorrow dim those dovelike eyes ; But peace as pure as reigned in jiaradise ,
Calm ancl untainted on creation ' s eve , Attend thee still ! May holy angels keep Wafcek o ' er thy path , and guard thee in thy sleep . ' Long years of joy and mutual love be thine , Ancl all that mortals ask or can receive Of benediction from the hand Divine !
Most happy Prince . ' who such a priceless gem Hast set within thy royal diadem ; Heir of illustrious kings , what Avords can tell The joy that fills the nation ' s heart this clay ! If the fond wish of those who love thee well Could call clown blessings ; as the bounteous May
Showers blossom on the turf—as ocean spray Flies glittering o ' er the rocks—as summer rain Falls sweetly soft on some sequestered dell , Bidding the languid hero revive again—Then never surely Prince were like thee ! For in thy gentle nature Avell Ave see The manhood , worth , ancl valour of thy sires ,
Temper'd with a winsome nobleness ( The gloAV Avithout the rage of bickering fires ) , That shame it were and sin to love thee less . And though no human hand can lift the A * eil Of the dark future , or unfold tbe page Of that most atvful book , wherein the tale ,
To be accomplish'cl of the coining age Stands in eternal characters of doom—Through no prophetic voices from the tomb , Or mystic oracles of dim presage , Can tell us what shall be—our trust is high , Yea , in tbe highest ! He will be thy shield ,
Thy strength , thy stay , though all the world combine . Believing that , Ave fear no enemy ; Nor foreign war , nor treason unrevefll'd , Can shake thy house , or mar thy royal line : Dread none , great Prince ; our hearts and loves are thine .
Poetry.
A SCOTCH INCIDENT At the Pope ' s Head Inn ; or the article iu general request . A companion to the tooth-brush and hair-brush provided in American cabins for the use of passengers . Tom Campbell , the poet and great bard of Hope , Who wrote as we seldom shall witness" again ,
While travelling in Scotland put up by at Pope , Whereto he'd been driven by wind and rain ; He dined- —for poets , like others , must dine If on Haggis or Haddios deponent saith not . Tbe whisky was good , and did duty for wine , Aud he rang for the waiter , called Maggie I wot ;
Pray , lassie , a toothpick bring hither , says he , To wile away dullness this wet afternoon . So he pickt and reflected in deep reverie , Like a poet all struck by the light of the moon ; Shortly rush'd in the Avaiter and , curtsying low , Said , " pray sir have you wi' the toothpick aye dune ?
I only ask whether yere dune with it or no , For I ken 'twill be wautecl maybe verra sune . " " Oh , Mag , " said tho poet , " why such question ask me ? I suppose I may keep it and pick away yet . " "No , no , sir , it 'longs to the club , do ye see ; And they in the club-room an hour have met . "
Not Lost.
NOT LOST .
It is not lost , —tbe beautiful ! ¦ That lights our changeful skies , Although to dim its glory here Dark earth-born mists arise : The summer heaven ' s celestial blue , Tlie sunset's parting ray , The gorgeous clouds with purple hue , Those bave not passed away .
It is not lost , —the beautiful ! Sweet sounds we loved of yore Shall greet our ears in brighter worlds , "Not lost , but gone before ' . " Soft plaintive notes that seem'd to raise Dead feelings by their strain ; The music of our bygone clays Shall all come back again .
It is not lost , —the beautiful . ' The little star-eyed flowers That bloomed so brief a time on earth , We scarce could call them ours : Another clime shall give to them The life that here they lack , And we shall see each floral gem AVe treasured once—come back .
It is not lost , —the beautiful ! The long-remembered look , Where myriad rays of feeling play'd Like sunbeams on a brook : It will return—that transient gleam , And we shall see once more The light that only lit our dream , Far brighter than before .
It is not lost , —the beautiful ! These little sunbeams flown , Ave garnered with tbe things that hide In regions yet unknown : The time will come—and then his hand ( Whose pow ' r was ne ' ei in A * ain ) Shall loose the captive spirit's band , And call them back again .