And forming part of plant and tree,
I may re-animated be.
Or else, embalm'd, like Egypt's kings,
Within the mighty pyramid,
I would survive all meaner things;
And in its deep recesses hid,
Possessor of eternity,
See time destroying all but me.
But if ye will that I shall lie
Inhum'd beneath a load of clay,
Oh! let me lie as near the sky
As ever human being may.
I would be from the vapours free
That haunt the valley. Bury me
Upon yon mountain's highest peak,
Where the swift tempest rushes by;
Where loud and hoarse the thunders speak,
And flash the lightnings. There would I
Catch, when each day its course has done,
The last beams of the setting sun.
The freshest breezes will be mine;
The stars then here will shine more bright;
And what I lov'd in life,-sunshine,—
Will be my own from morn till night;
And if one friend bedew my grave,
That will be all that I shall crave.
AN ANONYMOUS COMMUNICATION,
With regard to the death of Thomas Woolston, B.D.
MR. TAYLOR thinks he has read that Woolston died of a gaol fever. I have not got the large three-guinea edition of Lemprière's Dictionary, but in the abridged edition, it is merely said that Woolston "continued to the end of life within the rules of the King's Bench, and died 1733, of an epidemic disorder, after an illness of four days." L'Advocat's Dictionary, and also the Dictionnaire Historique Universel says, that Woolston died "of an epidemical cold, which prevailed almost throughout Europe at that time." Chaufepié says, that Woolston "died on Saturday the 27th January, 1732-3, about nine o'clock in the evening, being carried off, at the end of four days, partly by an epidemical malady which prevailed at that time, and partly by an obstruction in the chest." Chalmers only says, that Woolston died, "after an illness of four days." The Biographie Universelle says, "he remained in prison till his death, which happened on the 21st of January, 1731." But there are, (if I mistake not,) three errors in this short statement. The principal one is, that probably since November 1730, Woolston had been living in the rules of the King's Bench; and this fact alone, renders it utterly improbable, that Woolston should have died of a gaol fever. It is sufficient for the glory of that great and good man, that he met death with admirable patience, resignation, and fortitude.
THE CHALLENGE.
(Continued from p. 300.)
[I Do not like this subject into which Mr. Imray has fallen. It is unworthy of the poet; and nothing but doggerel can be written upon it.-R. C.]
THE gods deplored their mutual loss,
Till growing somewhat chafed and cross,
They all descended in a flight,
With looks and swords of flaming light.
Each had a sword on, to protect
Himself and to ensure respect;
And as they could not do without 'em,
'Twas well to have such things about them.
Well, thus accoutred down they came,
Belching inexorable flame,
At which the shudd'ring human pair,
After one shriek, and frantic stare,
Ran, Moses does not tell us where.
The conquerors no sooner found,
Their enemy had given ground,
Than straight they rallied round the tree,
Whose fruit gave immortality.
What has become of that same tree,
Died it with man's catastrophe ?
Where is the garden where it grew?
I'm sure I cannot say can you?
No blust'ring, flaming, sworded sprite,
Protects it now from human might;
Perhaps the Gods have grown ashamed,
And fainly would not have it named,
That they so very little knew man,
And were so duped-by what? a woman!
No" eat and live for ever" tree
Grows now-or who would cease to be?
'Tis strange that endless life should lie
Within it, yet that it should die.
No matter, I believe it all,
Snake, tree, Eve, Adam, fruit, and fall,
And those who don't, together cramm'd,
Shall in one glorious batch be damn’d.
But onward," Adam knew his"-hush?
1 will not make the ladies blush,
Eve had a child, and soon another,
The last was butcher'd by his brother.
One was a tiller of the ground,
The other occupation found,
In keeping (sure 'twas vain to keep,
When nobody eat mutton) sheep.
Now chose the brothers from their hoard,
A sacrifice for nature's Lord;
The eldest offer'd flow'rs and fruit,
But it appears this wouldn't suit;
The other slew a helpless brute,
A firstling of his flock, a lamb,
With which the merciful "I an,"
Was so much pleased, that in a trice,
He snuffed and praised the sacrifice.
The tender merciful, high priest,
Scorn'd flow'rs-but chose the mangled beast,
In priestly love, and thus began
The murdering of brute and man;
For Cain no sooner saw respected,
His brother's rite, his own rejected;
Than turning in avenging mood,
He offer'd up his brother's blood.
This made the Lord divinely sad,
"Twere better to say raving mad;
And now it seems he made another,
Stupid, too late, celestial bother.
Did he not know the fraticide
Would kill? yet Moses says beside,
He sneer'd at Cain, but praised his brother,
Thus setting one upon the other.
Then comes he, to make bad still worse,
By many a blind and bitter curse;
Enough with all his might and main,
He rav'd at his accomplice Cain,
And thus began-Thou cursed hound!
What hast thou done? e'en from the ground,
Thy brother's blood a voice has found,
Curse you, you rebel, don't you hear?
I say you've murder'd him-oh dear!
And here he kerchief'd off a tear.
Cain turn'd towards the holy weeper;
And asked-" Am I my brother's keeper?"
At which the Lord in high vexation,
Let fly a curse of deep damnation;
A wholesale curse, which even Cain
Begged leave to have uncursed again.
Said he, "As man, I'll take my share,
But this is more than I can bear.
What tho' thy Abel's hand no more
Can slay the lambs as heretofore,
Surely as loving butcher'd meat
Thy pow'r can slay, thy will a treat.
The flow'rs I offered were the best
That I could cull-as for the rest,
If nothing else but blood will do,
Take it-there's Abel's for thee too.
Behold this day, thou'st cursed the earth,
Albeit 'twas cursed before my birth.
Ha ha! and I'm a fugitive,
As long as thou shalt let me live ;
But hark you, tho' we only know
Of men and women one or two,
It may be thousands shall waylay me,
And all who find, will surely slay me.
Now mark me, sir, a hundred slayings,
And thrice as many hundred flayings,
From all who cut and come again,
Excuse me, sir, for speaking plain,
But tho' I've life on life to spare,
'Tis rather more than I can bear.'
At this the cooling god relented,
And tho' he can't repent, repented.
"No! no! said he, that must not be,
They shall not hurt a hair on thee,
Upon your brow I'll fix a label,
Which any one may read that's able.
Thus saying, (darkness was in sight,)
He took a handful of the night,
And clapping it on Cain's brow swore,
He'd do all that he could and more,
To baffle those who might waylay him,
Or feel a righteous itch to slay him.
Cain travell'd to the land of Nod,
And "knew his-" something dropt by god
Or devil, just exactly when
And where he wanted her, and then
Cain had a son, and built a city,
And named each Enoch-Lord, how witty!
Now we are told, in diff'rent quarters
Of earth, that men, (how strange!) had daughters,
And seeing they were wondrous fair,
God's sons, (I wonder who they were?)
Fell deep in love with them, while they
Being formed of fine elastic clay,
Gave birth to giants; oh! ye mothers
Of puny moderns-of all others,
I would be last to doubt your charms,
But still, no God's sons court your arms;
The giant bearing dames of old,
Have either left their angels cold
And passionless, or ye must prove
Too charmless for angelic love.
No matter which-one sunny day,
When not a cloud obscur'd his way,
Jehovah left his easy chair,
Or throne in heav'n, to take the air
The earth was sailing thro' the sky,
Dear as the apple of his eye,
At least he said so! let us see
How dear to him his eyes may be.
Well, well! the omniscient one descended,
To see if nothing could be mended,
Or alter'd, if but to bewilder
Man's senses: for the Christian's builder
With all his fabrics raised in air,
Design'd, but surely not with care!
Thus ev'n the universe doth seem
The abortion of some building scheme,
A scaffolding of something vast
And mighty, but giv'n up at last.
But now the Almighty one drew nigh
The earth, and glared right horribly,
The very brutes, both near and far,
Fled, as he left his cloudy car;
The Lion roar'd, (as now!) not fearing,
But merely as a sort of cheering;
The meaner beasts grinned forth a howl,
While clam'rous rose the winged fowl,
The eagle stole a glance, then soar'd,
And ev'n the very giants roar'd,
The heavens flash'd, while 'neath its god
Earth shook at ev'ry step he trode.
It seems he came again to curse
As deeply as he could make worse
The very things he blessed before,
Declaring they were good!-encore !
Why should he not, he was their maker,
And cke their genial undertaker ;
Yet why? Because, as goes the tale,
He found what he had made was frail,
Which grieved him at his very heart,
Until he caper'd with the smart;
Poor fellow, he had just found out,
He knew not what he'd been about,
"And now," said he, "from out my sight,
I'll deluge man and beasts outright,
I'll not be pester'd with them; no!
The devil take me if I do!
'Tis true, I might have made them better,
But is my will to brook a fetter?
Nor did I quite exactly see,
What rascals those I made would be ;
But still, I must preserve me seed
Of each abominable breed,
There's Noah, a tolerable man,
I'll try to save him—if I can ;
His wife, too-he must have a wife,
And so I'll save her woman's life,
Also his sons-their wives-in short,
Whate'er I think fit-for my sport.
As for the rest, both great and small,
I'll bring a flood upon them all,
And then I'll mock the shrieking elves;
Ha ha! they cannot help themselves.
This cursed earth, ha! ha! I'll move her,
Or else my name is not Jehovah."
(To be continued.)
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