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Bowles, in describing a night-scene in his Grave of the last Saxon), says:
-“ 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
That howl the woods and rocky steeps among,
The following verse is tender and melodious :
“Oh! my lost love! no tomb is placed for thee
That may to stranger's eyes thy worth impart;
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,
May fancied pain and fancied pleasure fly;
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,
* Now Mrs. Southey.
[WRITTEN IN INDIA.]
'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,
Flash forth through after storms,
The green-wood's loveliest spot-
The calm domestic cot-
Each scene we loved so well-
As Painting's mighty spell
But though so brightly beam,
By Youth's departed dream,
We may not therefore dwell
Nor sound, for aye, the knell
Whate'er our lot may be,
The temper'd breast is free
In fortune's cloudiest hours,
Are found both beams and flowers,
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
Her glorious aspect shows
SONNET-TO ENGLAND. Fair England ! thine untravell’d sons may
bear A tranquil sense of thy surpassing worth, As those who ne'er have parted from their birth In faith serene their social comforts share ; But he, alone, doth feel how deeply dear The charms of home, who wildly wandering forth To distant realms, finds dreariness and dearth E'en where kind Nature's lavish blooms appear. Around his path bright scenes unheeded lie, For these are tinged not with his early dreamsHis heart is far away ! Thy varied sky Dappling the silent hills with clouds and gleamsThy nest-like cottages and silver streamsAre all that catch the wanderer's dreaming eye !
SONNET-FREEDOM*. THERE is exulting pride, and holy mirth, In Freedom's kindling eye ! Her radiant smile Profoundly thrills this fair imperial isle, The Queen of nations! Glory of the earth! Impassioned orisons are breathing forth, And lofty aspirations. Phantoms vile That chill the feeble spirit, and defile The springs of thought and feeling in their birth, Fade like the mists of morn, and lose the power That made us willing slaves. For reason's light Is bursting through the clouds that darkly lower, And hide the face of Heaven! O'er the night Of slumbering millions--oh! transcendent hour ! The sun of liberty is rising bright !
* Written in England.