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Bowles, in describing a night-scene (in his Grave of the last
"All is silent, save the tide that rakes At times the beach."
Or perhaps it was taken from Hurdis :—
Raking with harsh recoil the pebbly steep."
The following from an address to the North Star has rather more vigour than Mrs. Smith usually displays:
"Now nightly wandering 'mid the tempests drear
Through the swift clouds-driven by the wind along;
The following verse is tender and melodious :
"Oh! my lost love! no tomb is placed for thee
I quote a part of the Sonnet to Fancy, for the sake of the neat turn of its concluding couplet :
"Through thy false medium then no longer viewed,
And I, as from me all thy dreams depart,
Nor seek perfection with a poet's eye,
It may perhaps appear from these extracts, that though not to
be placed in the first class of British Female Poets, Mrs. Smith
deserves more attention from the public than she is now likely to obtain. She is not to be compared to the Lady Minstrels of the present day, (to the powerful Joanna Baillie, the fanciful L. E. L., the tender and pathetic Caroline Bowles*, or the refined and spirited Hemans,) but her poems may, nevertheless, be occasionally referred to with pleasure as the effusions of a chaste and cultivated mind.
A GLORIOUS Sight! The sun is in the sea,
The glittering vapours lie.-But ah! how vain
So like a gorgeous vision! Every tint
Now Mrs. Southey.
'Tis sweet on this far strand,
When memory charms the fond reverted eye,
To view that hallowed land
Where early dreams like sun-touched shadows lie!
The dear familiar forms,
That caught the fairest hues of happier hours,
Flash forth through after storms,
As bursts of light between autumnal showers.
The green-wood's loveliest spot
The summer walk-the cheerful winter fire
The calm domestic cot
The village church with ivy-covered spire
Each scene we loved so well
With faithful force the mind's true mirror shows;
As Painting's mighty spell
Recals the past, and lengthened life bestows.
But though so brightly beam,
These distant views, they make the present drear;
By Youth's departed dream,
Life's onward paths but desolate appear.
We may not therefore dwell
Too long and deeply on the dearer past,
Nor sound, for aye, the knell
Of pleasures gone and glories overcast.
Whate'er our lot may be,
Whatever tints life's varied prospects wear,
From sullen apathy or fierce despair.
In fortune's cloudiest hours,
Within the dreariest regions of the earth,
Unless the wanderer's soul betrays a dearth.
For still, where'er we range,
Are traced the sweet results of virtue's reign ; Though forms and features change,
Fair thoughts and fine humanities remain.
And he, whose spirit glows
At Nature's charms, shall own in every land
The same bright marks of God's creating hand!
FAIR England! thine untravell'd sons may bear
As those who ne'er have parted from their birth
But he, alone, doth feel how deeply dear
THERE is exulting pride, and holy mirth,
In Freedom's kindling eye! Her radiant smile