With many a bright obtrusive form of Art, Detain'd your eye from Nature: stately vests, Rich viands and the pleasurable wine,

Were your's unearn'd by toil; nor could you see
The unenjoying toiler's misery.

And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hail'd the Chapel and the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of TELL!

O Lady, nurs'd in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learnt you that heroic measure?

There crowd your finely-fibred frame
All living faculties of bliss:

And GENIUS to your cradle came

His forehead wreath'd with lambent flame,
And bending low with godlike kiss
Breath'd in a more celestial life!

But many of your many fair compeers
Have frames as sensible of joys and fears:

And some might wage an equal strife,
Some few to nobler being wrought,
Co-rivals in the nobler gift of thought.

Yet these delight to celebrate
Laurell'd War and plumy State;
Or in verse and music dress

Tales of rustic happiness—
Pernicious tales! insidious strains!
That steel the rich man's breast,
And mock the lot unblest,

The sordid vices and the abject pains,
Which evermore must be

The doom of Ignorance and Poverty ! But you, free Nature's uncorrupted Child, Hail'd the low Chapel and the Platform wild, Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of TELL!

O Lady, nurs'd in pomp and pleasure!
Where learnt you that heroic measure?

You were a MOTHER; that most holy name, Which Heaven and Nature bless,

I may not vilely prostitute to those

Whose infants owe them less

Than the poor Reptile owes
Its gaudy Parent Fly!

You were a MOTHER! at your bosom fed

The Babes that loved you. You with laughing eye Each twilight thought, each nascent feeling read, Which you yourself created. O delight!

A second time to be a Mother

Without the Mother's bitter groans: Another thought and yet another,

By touch, or taste, by looks, or tones, O'er the growing sense to roll,

The Mother of your Infant's soul!

The ANGEL of the Earth, who while he guides
His chariot planet round the goal of Day,
All trembling gazes on the eye of God,
A moment turn'd his awful Face away;
And as he view'd you, from his aspect sweet
New influences in your being rose,

Blest intuitions and communions fleet,

With living Nature in her joys and woes!
Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see
The shrine of social Liberty !

O beautiful! O Nature's Child!

Twas thence

you hail'd the Platform wild,

Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of TELL!

O Lady, nurs'd in pomp and pleasure,
Thence learnt you that heroic measure!

ESTEESI.

To the NIGHTINGALE.

By GEORGE DYER.

Sweet Songstress, that unseen, unknown,
Dost pour the softly-varied strain,

Why dost thou wander still alone,
Why to the silent woods complain?

Oft have I linger'd in the grove,

To hear thy melting, soothing song; To me it seem'd a song of love,

Nor could I think the darkness long.

"But oh! sweet bird, why shun the light?

Why still repeat the lonesome lay?

"Those notes, that smooth the brow of night,