There the proud victorious dead Sights and sounds are yet on earth, Lovely forms of heavenly birth ; See yon blue-roll'd mountains rise Their crested bulwarks to the skies: Lo, with clouds and sunbeams wed, Stately Rosebury rears his head(Dear to Poets, with a shower Of laurels like Parnassus' dower!) See yon broad and sweeping lawn Glistening with the dews of dawn, Jocund once with noble cheer Of the hunters of the deer. 2 O'er the purple heath we go, Murmur symphonies divine, Where the mounds of heroes hoary Point toward heaven the path of glory, Till descending Wilton's woods, Listening where the cushat broods, When the music of the stream Sounds like voices in a dream! Mark we now the festal throng3 'Tis the lady's favour'd bower, (Lady of yon castled tower ;) Roses, violets, eglantine, Round that bower of beauty shine: Graceful Parks, majestic groves, Minister to youthful loves; Let the sparkling glass go round, Three times three, and seven times seven "Woman, fairest flower of heaven;" Fill, fill up the flowing measure, Dearest joys are ever fleetest, Bright and radiant as the beams Lingering o'er yon land of dreams! NOTES. 1 Referring to the numerous tumuli in the neighbourhood. 2" Park-wood," formerly a deer park to Gisborough Priory, and afterwards of the Chaloner family. 3 The party consisted of about thirty ladies and gentlemen from Stockton-on-Tees. 4 The lovely grotto where we dined is termed "Lady Elizabeth's bower," being a favorite retreat of lady Elizabeth Lowther, and commands a fine view of the sea and surrounding country. On this occasion it was kindly granted to our party by the Lowther family. 5 The noble Turner Charity at Kirkleatham is here alluded to. LETTERS FROM HOLLAND. No. I. My dear Hartley-, The Hague is called the "Garden of Holland," and a precious garden it is; for here grow, flourish, and vegetate, the Nassau family. It is a pleasant and agree able town, the centre of fashion, the centre of civilization, and the centre of Dutch beauty and accomplishments. There we met, for the first time, an hotel without a "Table d'Hote;" so reserved, supercilious, and retiring are the Dutch fashionables; and here for the first time did we meet the genuine approach to Dutch gentility. The neat street paved with brick,— the swinging bridges,-the long avenues of regularly planted trees, the magnificent hotels,-the prancing about of cavalry officers, the unusual stylishness of dress, the numerous array of carriages, coaches, and so forth,―all bespoke that a monarch was not far off; and that the court, with its luxuries, absurdities and follies was here fully felt. The first thing that occupied our attention was the gallery of paintings, which is unusually good. It stands on a commanding situation, and in approaching it you necessarily pass through fine open walks, shaded by rich lime trees; while, on each side, are many noble and magnificent mansions. On passing the ordeal of the entrance-stairs, you are first of all ushered into an apartment crowded with all sorts of Chinese absurdities and curiosities-Indian clubs-Hindostan armour-arrows, shields, spears, poisoned darts, &c. &c. much in the fashion of a similar collection in the British Museum. On leaving this we reach the pictures, which occupy numerous apartments, and are chiefly the most esteemed works of the best French, Dutch, and Flemish masters. Here, mingled together, in rich relief, is much that is immortal of Berghen, Cuip, Vandyke, Kruseman, Mieris, Paul Potter, Rembrandt, Rubens, Reusdaal, Synders, and Woverman,-names to you familiar; for if the love of Poetry exists paramount in your mind, there is another that almost equals it—the love of painting. The copy of the celebrated dead Saviour is extremely fine; the picture of unutterable anguish just fading away into a composed and seraphic smile-the calm majesty pictured on that pallid but still regal forehead-the deep passion of grief on those parted lips-the whole spectacle of awe around, mingling with the contemplations that go backward to that solemn day, when the ground shook as with an earthquake, and the temples were rent in twain, form altogether a picture the most pathetic and affecting. It is truly strange, that with so much wealth as we |