And, gallant Parker! thus enshrin'd
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be ;
And early valor glowing find

A model in thy memory.

But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In wo, that glory cannot quell;

And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless fell.

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less ?
When cease to hear thy cherish'd name?
Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.

Alas! for them, though not for thee,

They cannot choose but weep the more;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,

Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

The stanzas which appear to have been written as an amplification of Shenstone's elegant Latin inscription-Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisseare among the most successful of the lyric poems.

And art thou dead, as young and fair,

As aught of mortal birth;

And form so soft and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to earth?
Though earth receiv'd them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,

There is an eye that could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,

Nor gaze upon the spot;

There flowers or weeds at will may grow

So I behold them not;

It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved and long must love

Like common earth can rot;

To me there needs no stone to tell
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.

Yet I did love thee to the last,
As fervently as thou,

Who did'st not change through all the past,
And can'st not alter now.

The love where death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow;

And, what were worse, thou can'st not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine;

The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers
Shall never more be thine.

The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine

That all those charms have pass'd away,-
I might have watch'd through long decay.

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey,
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away;
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change from foul to fair.

I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade;

Thy day without a cloud hath past,
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguish'd, not decay'd,

As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest ere they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed.

To gaze-how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou, nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee !
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread eternity
Returns again to me;

And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.

The same inscription has furnished Moore with the basis. of one of his prettiest songs. It is short, and we cannot refuse ourselves the pleasure of copying it. We doubt whether the English language contains anything more delicate in the way of poetical imagery, than the second of the following

stanzas.

I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor dream'd that pale decay
Would steal before the march of time
And waste its bloom away.
But still thy features wore that light
That fades not with the breath;
And life ne'er look'd more purely bright
Than in thy smile of death.

As streams that run o'er golden mines
With modest murmur glide,

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines

Beneath their crystal tide;

So veiled within a simple guise,

Thy radiant genius shone,

And that which charm'd all other eyes,
Seem'd worthless in thine own.

If souls could always dwell above,

Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere,
Or could we keep the souls we love
We had not lost thee here;
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,

To live with them is far less sweet
Than to remember thee.

The best of the Hebrew melodies are truly charming,-for

example the two following.

Oh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom.

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And ling'ring pause, and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead.

Away; we know that tears are vain,

That death nor heeds nor hears distress;

Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou-who bid'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

I saw thee weep-the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew;

I saw thee smile—the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;

It could not match the living rays,
That fill'd that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,

Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart ;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.

We are not quite so sure about the Ode to the Star of the Legion of Honor, which purports to be a translation from the French, but of which, by the bye, we never met with the original. We have some doubts whether it exists in any other language than the English. The bard sets off in a most brilliant bravura style; and when he comes to the tricolored flag (a weak point with him) sinks into a charming minor key of pathos and sentiment. We repeat that we are not quite sure

there is not some tinsel about it; but our readers shall judge for themselves.

Star of the brave! whose beams have shed
Such lustre o'er the quick and dead!
Thou radiant and adored deceit,
Which thousands rush'd in arms to greet!
Wild meteor of immortal birth!
Why rise in heaven to set on earth?

Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays;
Eternity flash'd through thy blaze;
The music of thy martial sphere
Was fame on high and honor here ;
And thy light burst on mortal eyes
Like a volcano from the skies.

Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood,
And swept down empires in its flood;
Earth rock'd beneath thee to its base,
As thou didst lighten through all space;
And the shorn sun grew dim in air,
And set as thou wert shining there.

Beside thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue,
Of three bright colors, each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign,

For Freedom's hand had blended them
Like tints in an immortal gem.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
One the blue depth of seraph's eyes ;
One the pure spirit's veil of white
Had robed in that celestial light ;
The three so mingled did beseem

The texture of a heavenly dream.

Star of the brave! thy beams are pale,
And darkness must again prevail ;
But oh! thou rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away,
Our life is but a load of clay.

And Freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;