'Softly blow, thou western breeze, Thus ell to soothe the chieftain's woe, He seemed her parting sigh to hear. The lonely deck he paces o'er, Impatient for the rising day. And still from Crinan's moonlight shore, He turns his eyes to Colonsay. The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, That streaks with foam the ocean green; While forward still the rowers urge Their course, a female form was seen. That sea-maid's form, of pearly light, Borne on a foamy crested wave, She reached amain the bounding prow, Then clasping fast the chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below. Ah! long beside thy feignéd bier, The monks the prayer of death shall And long for thee, the fruitless tear, [say; Shall weep the maid of Colonsay! But downward like a powerful corse, Of waters murmuring in his ear. The murmurs sink by slow degrees, He lies within a coral cave. . . . No form he saw of mortal mould; Her ringlets waved in living gold. Her pearly comb the siren took, And careless bound her tresses wild; Still o'er the mirror stole her look. As on the wondering youth she smiled. Like music from the greenwood tree, Fair is the crystal hall for me With rubies and with emeralds set; And sweet the music of the sea Shall sing, when we for love are met. 'How sweet to dance with gliding feet Along the level tide so green, Responsive to the cadence sweet [scene! That breathes along the moonlight 'And soft the music of the main Rings from the motly tortoise-shell, While moonbeams o'er the watery plain Seem trembling in its fitful swell.'. Proud swells her heart! she dreams at last In softer, sweeter strains she sung, O sad the Mermaid's gay notes fell, And ever as the year returns, The charm-bound sailors know the day, For sadly still the Mermaid mourns The lovely chief of Colonsay. HENRY KIRKE WHITE. HENRY KIRK WHITE, a young poet, who has accomplished more by the example of his life than by his writings, was a native of Nottingham, where he was born on the 21st of August 1785. His father was a butcher-anungentle craft,' which, however, has had the honour of giving to England one of its most distinguished churchmen, Cardinal Wolsey, and the two poets, Akenside and White. Henry was a rhymer and a stodent from his earliest years. He assisted at his father's business for some time, but in his fourteenth year was put apprentice to a stocking-weaver. Disliking, as he said, the thought of spending seven years of his life in shining and folding up stockings, he wanted something to occupy his brain, and he felt that he should be wretched if he continued long at this trade, or indeed in anything except one of the learned professions. He was at length placed in an attorney's office, and applying his leisure hours to the study of languages, he was able, in the course of ten months, to read Horace with tolerable facility, and had made some progress in Greek. At the same time he acquired a knowledge of Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese, and even applied himself to the acquisition of some of the sciences. His habits of study and application were unremitting. A London magazine, called the Monthly Preceptor,' having proposed prize-themes for the youth of both sexes, Henry became a candidate, and while only in his fifteenth year, obtained a silver medal for a translation from Horace; and the following year a pair of twelve-inch globes from an imaginary tour from London to Edinburgh. He next became a correspondent in the Monthly Mirror,' and was introduced to the acquaintance of Mr. Capel Lofft and of Mr. Hill, the proprietor of the above periodical. Their encourage ment induced him to prepare a volume of poems for the press, which appeared in 1803. The longest piece in the collection is a descriptive poem in the style of Goldsmith, entitled Clifton Grove,' which shews a remarkable proficiency in smooth and elegant versification and language. In his preface to the volume, Henry had stated that the poems were the production of a youth of seventeen, published for the purpose of facilitating his future studies, and enabling him 'to pursue those inclinations which might one day place him in an honourable station in the scale of society.' Such a declaration should have disarmed the severity of criticism; but the volume was con temptuously noticed in the Monthly Review,' and Henry felt the most exquisite pain from the unjust and ungenerous critique. Fortunately, the volume fell into the hands of Southey, who wrote to the young poet to encourage him, and other friends sprung up to succour his genius, and to procure for him what was the darling object of his ambition, admission to the university of Cambridge. His opinions for some time inclined to deism, without any taint of immorality, but a fellow-student put into his hands Scott's Force of Truth,' and he soon became a decided convert to the spirit and doctrines of Christianity. He resolved upon devoting his life to the promulgation of them, and the Rev. Mr. Simeon, Cambridge, procured for him a sizarship at St. John's College. This benevolent clergyman further promised, with the aid of a friend, to supply him with £30 annually, and his own family were to furnish the remainder necessary for him to go through college. Poetry was now abandoned for severer studies. He competed for one of the university scholarships, and at the end of his term was pronounced the first man of his year. Mr. Catton-his tutor-by procuring for him exhibitions to the amount of £66 per annum, enabled him to give up the pecuniary assistance which he had received from Mr. Simeon and other friends. This distinct on was purchased at the sacrifice of health and life. Were I,' he said, to paint Fame crowning an undergraduate after the senate-house examination, I would represent him as concealing a death's head under the mask of beauty.' He died on the 19th of October 1806 Southey wrote a sketch of his life, and edited his Remains,' which proved to be highly popular. A tablet to Henry's memory, with a medallion by Chantrey, was placed in All Saint's Church, Cambridge, by a young American gentleman, Mr. Francis Boot of Boston, and bearing the following inscription— so expressive of the tenderness, and regret universally felt towards the poet-by Professor Smyth : Warm with fond hope and learning's sacred flame, Too early lost midst studies too severe! Foremost to mourn was generous Southey seen, He told the tale, and shewed what White had been; Nor told in vain. Far o'er the Atlantic wave A wanderer came, and sought the poet s grave: And raised this fond memorial to his fame. Byron has also consecrated some beautiful lines to the memory of White. The poetry of Henry was all written before his twentieth year, and hence should not be severely judged. If compared, however, with the strains of Cowley or Chatterton at an earlier age, it will be seen to be inferior in this, that no indications are given of great future genius. Whether force and originality would have come with manhood and learning, is a point which, notwithstanding the example of Byron-a very different mind-may fairly be doubted. It is enough, however, for Henry Kirke White to have afforded one of the finest examples on record of youthful talent and perseverance devoted to the purest and noblest objects. To an Early Primrose. Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire! Was nursed in whirling storms, And cradled in the winds. Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's way, To merk his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Thy tender elegance. What art thou, Mighty One! and where thy seat? Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind. In the drear silence of the polar span Dost thou repose? or in the solitude Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood? Vain thought! the confines of his throne to trace Who glows through all the fields of boundless space. The Star of Bethlehem. When marshalled on the nightly plain, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Once on the raging seas I rode, [dark; Deep horror then my vitals froze, It was the Star of Bethlehem. It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease, And through the storm and dangers thrall. It led me to the port of peace. Now safe y moored-my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore, The Star-the Star of Bethlehem. Britain a Thousand Years Hence. Where now is Britain ?-Where her laurelled names, Through her depopulated vales, the scream And the scared native to the tempest howls The yell of depreca ion. O'er her marts, Her crowded ports, broods Silence; and the cry Even as the savage sits upon the stone That marks where stood her capitols, and hears From the dismaying solitude-Her bards E. L. vol. v.—4 And their wild harps, suspended o'er their graves, Meanwhile the arts, in second infancy, Rise in some distant clime, and then perchance Far from the civil world: and sagely sighs The Christiad. Concluding stanzas, written shortly before his death. Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme, Of godlike deeds, far loftier than beseem On the dark cypress; and the strings which rung Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard no more. And must the harp of Judah sleep again? Shall I no more reanimate the lay? Oh! Thou who visitest the sons of men, Thou who dost listen when the humble pray, One little space prolong my mournful day; One little lapse suspend thy last decree! I am a youthful traveller in the way, And this slight boon would consecrate to thee, Ere I with Death shake hands, and smile that I am free. JAMES GRAHAME, The REV. JAMES GRAHAME was born in Glasgow in the year 1765. He studied the law, and practised at the Scottish bar for several years, but afterwards took orders in the Church of England, and was successively curate of Shipton, in Gloucestershire, and of Sedgefield, in the county of Durham. Ill-health compelled him to abandon his curacy when his virtues and talents had attracted notice and rendered him a popular and useful preacher; and on revisiting Scotland, he died on the 14th of September 1811. The works of Grahame consist of Mary, Queen of Scotland,' a dramatic poem published in 1801; 'The Sabbath' (1804), 'Sabbath Walks' (1805), Biblical Pictures,' 'The Birds of Scotland' (1806), and British Georgics' (1809), all in blank verse. 'The Sabbath' is the best of his productions, and the Georgics' the least interesting; for though the latter contains some fine descriptions, the poet is too minute and too practical in his rural |