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And the forms which I fondly loved are flown,
And friends have departed-one by one;
And memory sits whole lonely hours,
And weaves her wreath of hope's faded flowers,
And weeps o'er the chaplet, when no one is near
To gaze on her grief, or to chide her tear!

And the home of my childhood is distant far,
And I walk in a land where strangers are ;
And the looks that I meet, and the sounds that I hear,
Are not light to my spirit, nor song to my ear;
And sunshine is round me, which I cannot see,
And eyes that beam kindness,—but not for me!

And the song goes round, and the glowing smile,-
But I am desolate all the while !
And faces are bright, and bosoms glad,
And nothing, I think, but my heart is sad !
And I seem like a blight in a region of bloom,
While I dwell in my own little circle of gloom !

I wander about, like a shadow of pain,
With a worm in my breast, and a spell on my brain ;
And I list, with a start, to the gushing of gladness,
Oh! how it grates on a bosom all sadness!
So I turn from a world where I never was known,
To sit in my sorrow,--and all alone!

SHE SLEEPS, THAT STILL AND PLACID SLEEP.

She sleeps—that still and placid sleep

For which the weary pant in vain ;
And, where the dews of evening weep,

I may not weep again ;
Oh! never more upon her grave,

Shall I behold the wild-flower wave!

They laid her where the sun and moon

Look on her tomb, with loving eve,
And I have heard the breeze of June

Sweep o'er it-like a sigh !
And the wild river's wailing song

And I have dreamt, in many dreams,

Of her who was a dream to me;
And talked to her, by summer streams,

In crowds, and on the sea, -
Till, in my soul she grew enshrined,

A young Egeria of the mind!

'Tis years ago !-and other eyes

Have flung their beauty o'er my youth ; And I have hung on other sighs,

And sounds that seemed like truth; And loved the music which they gave,

Like that which perished in the grave.

And I have left the cold and dead,

To mingle with the living cold ; There is a weight around my head,

My heart is growing old; Oh ! for a refuge and a home,

With thee, dead Ellen, in thy tomb !

Age sits upon my breast and brain,

My spirit fades before its time;
But they are all thine own again,

Lost partner of their prime!
And thou art dearer, in thy shroud,

Than all the false and living crowd !

Rise, gentle vision of the hours,

Which go-like birds that come not back ! And fling thy pale and funeral flowers

On memory's wasted track !
Oh! for the wings that made thee blest,

To“ flee away, and be at rest!"

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY was born in the city of Bath. His family connexions are good; his paternal grandmother was the sister of Lord Delamer, and Sir George Thomas, Bart., was his maternal grandfather. He is related to the present Earl of Stamford and Warrington, the Earl of Erroll, and Sir George Thomas. His principal amusement at ten years of age was writing verses and dramas; and being an only child, and his mother having a considerable fortune, he rejected all professional pursuits, and cultivated the talents which had so early developed themselves. In 1826, he married Helena Becher Hayes, a near relation of Sir William Becher, Bart., and shortly afterwards retired to a cottage on the Sussex coast: but in 1831, an almost overwhelming misfortune befel him. His father, from some unexplained cause, became embarrassed, and left the country; and the income settled upon Haynes Bayly at his marriage, has never since been paid. Literature, which had hitherto been his amusement, now became essential to his comfort. If his songs were collected, they would fill many large volumes. He is also the author of several dramas,-" Perfee. tion," "Sold for a Song," the “ Witness," and some others have not only been suc. cessful in the metropolis, but have been acted in almost every theatre in the kingdom, He has been an extensive contributor of prose essays and stories to many of the periodical works; and may be placed among the men of talent who are also men of industry.

The songs of Mr. Bayly have attained a popularity almost without precedent in our time. With the exception of Moore, no living writer has been so eagerly sought after by musical composers; his words have become familiar under almost every roof in the kingdom ; and it would be difficult to pass through a street of the metropolis, or of any of the provincial towns, without finding some of them the stock in trade of the ballad-singer. Such large and unqualified success could have been achieved only by a man of considerable skill and ability; and, although attempts have been made to show that the poetry of Haynes Bayly is meretricious, the fact that it is universally admired and enjoyed by the public, is a proof of its merit which a volume of ob jecting criticism cannot destroy. The secret of his success-if secret it can be called is that in all his writings he is NATURAL:his songs make their way to the heart : they are understood and appreciated by the unlearned ; they speak the thoughts and describe the feelings of the great mass of mankind, who have no idea of relating their woes and pleasures in splendid diction, or delicately turned sentences. He is tender, as well as natural; and graceful, as well as smooth: his lines run “glibly" on; and the memory easily receives and retains them. If tried by a severe standard, Mr. Bayly cannot be ranked among the higher and more enduring Poets of Great Britain : he has essayed nothing of any length; many hundred songs have, we believe, been written by him; but none of them have a more ambitious object than to produce gratification by the expression of some simple sentiment in pleasing verse; and perhaps a bolder attempt would be a failure. If, however, to have greatly and generally succeeded in a class of composition, by no means of small value, entitles him to a distinguished place among the Poets of his country, Mr. Bayly may fearlessly claim it. He has not only excelled in producing strains of deep feeling and fine sentiment,-in some of his poems there is a vein of arch playfulness and pointed humour that would have secured for him a reputation, had his verses never been associated with music. It is, however, impossible to deny that much of his fame has arisen from this association: he has thus, fortunately, obtained the means of introduction where perhaps it would have been impossible for him otherwise to have been known; but his merit as a writer must have been perceived without such co-operation; with it, it has been effective to a degree almost unparalleled : so universally, indeed, are the songs of Haynes Bayly heard in the metropolis--in its drawing-rooms and its streets--that the ear has become absolutely surfeited with them; he has had to endure the dangerous consequences of too much popularity.

It will be well if Poets of stronger mind and richer fancy will inquire how it is that the poems of Haynes Bayly have obtained such general favour: the inquiry may tempt them to write below rather than above the standard of excellence, when they design to address themselves to the mass. It would be easy to point out many who have composed "songs''-exquisitely perfect as poems, which few ever think of singing. They may be read with delight by those who can appreciate their superiority; but if they

BAIT.

THE GIPSIES' HAUNT.

Why curls the blue smoke o'er the trees?
What words are borne upon the breeze?
Some cottage in yon lonely glen
Lies nestled from the eyes of men ;
Unconsciously we've wandered near
Some rural play-place, for I hear
The sound in which my heart rejoices,-
The melody of infant voices.

Alas! in that green nook we see
No dwelling-place of industry;
No dame, intent on household cares,
The neat but frugal meal prepares :

expression of some simple sentiment in pleasing verse; and perhaps a bolder attempt would be a failure. If, however, to have greatly and generally succeeded in a class of composition, by no means of small value, entitles him to a distinguished place among the Poets of his country, Mr. Bayly may fearlessly claim it. He has not only excelled in producing strains of deep feeling and fine sentiment,-in some of his poems there is a vein of arch playfulness and pointed humour that would have secured for him a reputation, had his verses never been associated with music. It is, however, impossible to deny that much of his fame has arisen from this association : he has thus, fortunately, obtained the means of introduction where perhaps it would have been impossible for him otherwise to have been known; but his merit as a writer must have been perceived without such co-operation ; with it, it has been effective to a degree almost unparalleled : so universally, indeed, are the songs of Haynes Bayly heard in the metropolis-in its drawing-rooms and its streets-that the ear has become absolutely surfeited with them; he has had to endure the dangerous consequences of too much popularity.

It will be well if Poets of stronger mind and richer fancy will inquire how it is that the poems of Haynes Bayly have obtained such general favour: the inquiry may tempt them to write below rather than above the standard of excellence, when they desigti to address themselves to the mass. It would be easy to point out many who have composed “songs"-exquisitely perfect as poems—which few ever think of singing. They may be read with delight by those who can appreciate their superiority; but if they

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