74 TO THE AUTHOR OF ROSALIE. And that the magic of thy words Is even as thy song The sweetness of the sea-shell chords I will believe all they can say I dream thee beautiful and bright, With lip and eye of flashing light, They see the loveliness that burns, I dream thee in thy lonely hour, The light dark in thine eye While from thy parted lips there break A tale of feminine fond love, The tender and the tried, The heart's sweet faith, which looks above, TO THE AUTHOR OF ROSALIE. Even as the Spring comes to the rose, So what should woman's hand unclose ?- The song is sad which thou hast sung: Ah, yes! the fire is in thy breast, Life has no calm, no listless rest, Thou, blending in thy harp and heart The softness of the woman's part, With feelings like the lute's fine strings, With hopes that wear an angel's wings, The stern, the selfish, and the cold, But thou-go ask thy lute what fate And it will tell thee tears await The path of one like thee: 75 76 TO THE AUTHOR OF ROSALIE. Too sensitive, like early flowers, Yet little would I that such words I pity those who sigh for thee, I fling thee laurel offerings, I own thy spirit's spell, I greet the music of thy strings- ON THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST,* AT NIGHT, IN ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR, BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES. THE castle clock had tolled midnight- The coffin bore his name, that those Of other years might know, When earth its secrets should disclose, "PEACE to the DEAD" no children sung, No prayers were read, no knell was rung, We only heard the Winter's wind, As o'er the open grave inclined, A moonbeam, from the arches' height, And all the windows shone. * In the account of the burial of the king in Windsor Castle by Sir Thomas Herbert, the spot where the body was laid is described minutely, opposite the eleventh stall. The whole account is singularly impressive; but it is extraordinary it should ever have been supposed that the place of interment was unknown, when this description existed. At the late accidental disinterment, some of his hair was cut off. Soon after, the following lines were written, which I now set before the reader for the first time. 78 FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST. We thought we saw the banners then, 'Tis gone! again, on tombs defaced, And now the chilly, freezing air, We laid the broken marble floor- THE SCULPTURED CHILDREN, ON CHANTREY'S MONUMENT AT LICHFIELD. BY MRS. HEMANS. Thus lay The gentle babes, thus girdling one another FAIR images of sleep! Hallowed, and soft, and deep; On whose calm lids the dreamy quiet lies, Of flowers in mossy dells, Filled with the hush of night and summer skies; |