my own experience, that they have a value far beyond their subserviency to worldly prosperity; and will supply, in every situation, the purest and most permanent enjoyment-at once adorning and relieving the toils and vexations of a busy life, and refining and exalting the enjoyments of a social one. It is impossible, however, that those studies can be pursued to advantage in so great an establishment as this, without the most dutiful observance of that discipline and subordination without which so numerous a society must unavoidably fall into the most miserable disorder, and the whole benefits of its arrangements be lost. As one of the guardians of this discipline, I cannot bid you farewell, therefore, without most earnestly entreating you to submit cheerfully, habitually, and gracefully, to all that the parental authority of your instructors may find it necessary to enjoin-being fully persuaded, that such a free and becoming submission is not only the best proof of the value you put on their instructions, but, in so far as I have ever observed, the most unequivocal test of a truly generous and independent character.

"I have now only to repeat my thanks for the great honour I this day receive at your hands-and for the kindness with which you have listened to these observations.

"After Mr Jeffrey had sat down, the cheers and acclamations of the audience were continued for several minutes."

The few whose cup with worldly wealth ran o'er,

With liberal kindness shar'd it with the poor,

And gave to others trifles made to please, Received with honest joy, and worn with

ease.

Capricious fashion did not here preside,
And taste and fancy knew no foreign guide.
O simple worth, and manners void of art,
Still, still your dear remembrance warms
my heart!

Still, still I see your cordial smiles adorn The heart's blest festival, the new-year's morn!

Felicia, when I hail this day's return, I feel my heart with warmer kindness burn. 0, were my hand from chill restraint as free,

What precious gifts would I select for thee! Not ornaments of price to deck a face Where Nature's self has lavish'd every grace,

Or bind a form in fashion's varying zone,
That simple elegance has mark'd her own.
Taught to admire by thy enchanting song,
How fain would I repair blind Fortune's
wrong;

For all thy modest wants at once provide,
Nor leave one ardent wish ungratified.
O'er me the Power her iron sway extends,
And shuts me up in wishes for my friends.
Though powers are limited, yet thought is
free,

Then what, Felicia, should I wish for thee?
Say, must this languid, tuneless lay alone
For all my heart would fain bestow, atone?
Yet ere too rashly fortune we accuse,
Say, what has nature given, and what the

muse,

And what has truth's unfailing lore supplied,

To be through life thy ornament and guide,

And what the blessings which domestic life
Affords to cheer the mother and the wife?
Nature her best, her choicest boon be-
stowed,

In a full stream her copious bounty flowed,
With intellectual gifts of noblest kind,
The goddess amply stored her favourite's
mind,

Then lodged it in a form surpassing fair,
A casket worthy of a gem so rare,
Then o'er the favour'd maid th' inspiring

63

Thy opening youth with wholesome nurture rear'd,

By sacred truth enlightened, blest, and cheer'd,

Through no blind maze of wild conjecture ran,

Nor sought the wisdom from above to scan,
Thy duties' humble path content to know,
For all beyond is vanity and woe;
Yet rich in all the book of knowledge
yields,

Thy tuneful lay has traced Hesperia's fields,
Of Italy the classic haunts explored,
And from a mind with ancient learning
stored,

Pour'd light on fallen Grecia's sad remains,

Her desolated shores and ruined fanes, And with the music of thy plaintive strain, Recalled their banished deities again; Again bade Phoebus pour the flood of day, And Cynthia shed again her silver ray; Yet not by fancy's dreams from love beguiled,

Unheeding whether fortune frowned or smiled,

Thy early vows were given with glad accord,

To him thy youthful bosom's chosen lord, To both were truth, and love, and merit given,

And for the rest they safely trusted heaven, And 'safely still may trust. Those lovely boys,

Solace of care, and source of purest joys,
A tenderer care, a happier lot shall know,
Than fortune on its favourites can bestow.
Their parents sheltered in retirement's shade,
Where folly's motley children ne'er invade,
Safe in their peaceful shades shall leisure
find,

To pour the fresh instruction on the mind,
To mould to virtue every infant breast,
And teach them that the good are still the
blest,

So shall in ripen'd years their grateful love, Like guardian spirits round their parents

move,

The swelling Hosanna
TO HIM who gave earth
Such beauty and grandeur
Spontaneous had birth.
An homage less lofty,
But not less sincere,
Was the meed paid to genius,
Which thus could endear
The lake and the mountain,
The deep shaggy glen,
The lone lovely isle,

And the goblin's grim den ;*
The pass where Clan Alpin,
In martial array,
Beneath the "Pine Banner,"

Led on the foray ;-
All, I oft made to echo
Again with the strain,
An Alice" or "Norman,"
First woke on the plain.
These "lays" of the "Minstrel,"
Where'er they are sung,
Are touching and lovely;

But O! when among
The straths, glens, and mountains,
That prompted each thought,
They are trilled,-with new beauty
And power they seem fraught.
By these scenes is thy home,
And the place of thy birth,
(A spot of more beauty

Blooms not upon earth!)
Then take from the stranger
Who sojourned a while
'Mong the warm-hearted plenty
And mirth of Auchyle,
This token of friendship;
When he's far away,
It perhaps may remind you
Of one happy day.
Once more at thy bidding,
The Trosach's dark glen
Will be cheered with the "
Of Roderick's men;

And placid Loch Katrine
Shall echo the flow

Of "Roderick Vich Alpine
Dhu, Ho iero!"

Glasgow, Sept. 1820.

boat-song"

T. A.

MIRANDOLA.

Cave on Benvenue.

TOL. VIII.

very few, and those on which the catastrophe hinges are even commonplace; yet such is the skill with which the whole is wrought, so fine is the taste of the texture, and so many are the gems of poesy with which the web is studded, that every thing but admiration is forgotten as it is unfolded to the view. It has no pomp of style, no majesty-but the majesty of nature; it has no ornaments, no laboured graces-but the brief sweet breathings of a poetic mind; it has no affecting wonder, no road to the heart-but the deep pathos of truth, under circumstancess of human affliction, and the pourings out of souls wounded by disappointment, stung by treachery, blighted by ingratitude, infuriated by jealousy, and maddened by despair. And this is genuine inspiration: these are the real glories of verse, which would force us to overlook as nothing a hundred-fold greater blemishes than any that can be detected in Mirandola. But to the proof.

"Mirandola is a chaster Parisina. The Duke, under the supposition of his son Guido's death, and unknowing of their original loves, weds Isidora, the sworn bride of Guido. The letters between the parties have been intercepted and suppressed by Isabella, the Duke's sister, (whose ambition secks the throne for her son,) and her agent. - Gheraldi, a monk, whom she has seduced by the promise of a Cardinal's hat. Guido returns to Mirandola-is informed of his hopes-and yet, as far as a broken heart can be reconciled, is reconciled to his father and to Isidora. But the plotters of evil take care to fill the breast of Mirandola with jealousy, against which his nobler sentiments strive to shield him in vain. The sight on his hand of a ringpledge of his love, obtained from his Duchess and conveyed to Guido as a token of her friendship, fills him with the bitterest suspicions; to allay which Guido resolves to abandon Mirandola for ever.

He declares he will not see Isidora again, and after a fine. scene, his father bids him farewell. Unhappily, however, Isidora, through their mutual friend Casti, implores an interview, to procure the restora tion of the ring; to which Guido asscnts. Meanwhile Casti discovers the treachery of Isabella and Gheraldi, from the dropping of some papers by the latter in his cell, and rushes forth to expose the traitors to the Duke.

I

He is too late. In the interim Mirandola has been guided to the final interview of the lovers in the garden; and thus convinced of his falsehood, dooms his son to instant death. He is led out to execution; Casti comes, and shows the villany of Isabella; the crisis arrives, and the agonized parent, imploring in mercy that his cruel orders may be prevented, hears the sound of the musquetry which seals the fate of his only child, and his own desolation. Nature struggles through a few throes, and he expires.

"The first scene, in which the Duke and his young wife appear, exquisitely opens out his impetuous and suspicious, though generous character; and the boundless joy of its close prepares us for the coming of sorrow and Guido. Mirandola thus speaks:

When joy is in her eye 'tis like the light
Of heaven: blue, deep and ethereal blue.
I would not wish a wife more beautiful;
And, were she but a Saint, I'd worship
her.