WRITTEN AT ROUEN. The city of Rouen (formerly the capital of Normandy, the land of chivalry,) is one of the most extraordinary-looking old towns, in Europe. The extreme narrowness of its streets, and great elevation of its houses, with their overhanging upper-stories, give an appearance of heaviness and gloom to the town, that contrasts finely with the beauty of its situation. It is surrounded, on all sides, by heights, laid out in Boulevards; receiving first, and retaining last, the rays of the rising and setting sun; and affording magnificent panoramic views of the windings of the Seine. Its squares and streets are ornamented with fountains. THE Seine is like a belt of gold,— Beneath an autumn sky, That floats, in many a crimson fold, Like a banner hung on high! The town sleeps, darkly, on the stream,— Where lights and shadows play, While wave on wave-like dream on dream Smile, as they glide away! And here I stand-as here I stood, How many years ago! When life danced onward, like the flood, With music in its flow! But now, my breast, like yonder dome, Is half a temple-half a tomb, But has no earthly part! My spirit keeps the trace - like thee,— Of many a lost parade,— Dreams of the soul's young chivalry, -Like thee, dark town!-like thee, in all But thy many gushing fountains, Yet, brightened, still, by lights that fall From heaven,-like thy blue mountains! * The heart of Richard, of England, is deposited in the Cathedral, at Rouen. THE ASTROLOGER. BY THE RIGHT HON. LORD PORCHESTER. 'Twas the still midnight hour!—from his cavern of dread, The Astrologer watched o'er the vaults of the dead! Deep sunk were his eyes, yet shone piercing and bright, With a lurid, and wild, and unnatural light! His black, shaggy locks floated down to the floor!- -It sure was a gift from the rulers who dwell And slowly he lifted it thrice to the sky, "Speak! why hast thou sought the astrologer's cave?" And his hollow voice rang like a call from the grave! "I know, dreadful spirit of darkness! to thee The future is clear-as the past is to me ; Am I doomed the stern cares of ambition to prove?— Shall I drink-as I drank-from the fountain of love ?" "Can the fountain of love be renewed ?-Where is she Who roamed, at thy side, by the bright southern sea, Whose eye was as sparkling-whose spirit as freeWhose step was most blithe 'mid the light-hearted throng, And who charmed the mute group with her innocent song ? And where is that loved one,-who, once, to thy breast, With the transport of wildest affection, was prest? How many long months on her lone couch she lay, In tears and in solitude wasting the day! |