From the same spot; and he, that richly hearsed,
With gloomy garniture of purchased woe,
Embalmed, in princely sepulchre was laid,
Apart from vulgar men, built nicely round

And round by the proud heir, who blushed to think
His father's lordly clay should ever mix
With peasant dust,-saw by his side, awake,
The clown that long had slumbered in his arms.

The family tomb, to whose devouring mouth
Descended sire and son, age after age,
In long, unbroken, hereditary line,
Poured forth, at once, the ancient father rude,
And all his offspring of a thousand years.
Refreshed from sweet repose, awoke the man
Of charitable life,—awoke and
sung:
And from his prison-house, slowly and sad,
As if unsatisfied with holding near

Communion with the earth, the miser drew

His carcase forth, and gnashed his teeth, and howled,
Unsolaced by his gold and silver then.
From simple stone in lonely wilderness,
That hoary lay, o'erletter'd by the hand
Of oft-frequenting pilgrim, who had taught
The willow-tree to weep, at morn and even,
Over the sacred spot,-the martyr saint,
To song of seraph harp, triumphant rose,
Well pleased that he had suffered to the death.
"The cloud-capped tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,"
As sung the bard by Nature's hand anointed,
In whose capacious giant numbers rolled
The passions of old Time, fell lumbering down.
All cities fell, and every work of man,

And gave their portion forth of human dust,-
Touched by the mortal finger of decay.

Tree, herb, and flower, and every fowl of heaven,
And fish, and animal-the wild and tame-
Forthwith dissolving, crumbled into dust.

Athens, and Rome, and Babylon, and Tyre, And she that sat on Thames, queen of the seas,Cities once famed on earth, convulsed through all Their mighty ruins, threw their millions forth.

Palmyra's dead, where desolation sat
From age to age, well pleased in solitude,
And silence, -save when traveller's foot, or owl
Of night, or fragment mouldering down to dust,
Broke faintly on his desert ear,-awoke.
And Salem, holy city, where the Prince
Of Life, by death, a second life secured

To man, and with him from the grave, redeemed,
A chosen number brought, to retinue
His great ascent on high, and give sure pledge
That death was foiled,-her generations, now,
Gave up, of kings, and priests, and Pharisees:
Nor even the Sadducee, who fondly said,
No morn of resurrection e'er should come,
Could sit the summons; to his ear did reach
The trumpet's voice, and ill prepared for what
He oft had proved should never be, he rose
Reluctantly, and on his face began

To burn eternal shame. The cities, too,
Of old, ensepulchred beneath the flood,

Or deeply slumbering under mountains huge,

That earthquake-servant of the wrath of GodHad on their wicked population thrown;

And marts of busy trade, long ploughed and sown,
By history unrecorded, or the song

Of bard-yet not forgotten their wickedness
In heaven-poured forth their ancient multitudes,
That vainly wished their sleep had never broke.
From battle fields, where men by millions met
To murder each his fellow, and make sport
To kings and heroes-things long since forgot-
Innumerous armies rose, unbanner'd all,
Unpanoplied, unpraised; nor found a prince,
Or general, then, to answer for their crimes.
The hero's slaves, and all the scarlet troops
Of antichrist, and all that fought for rule,—
Many high-sounding names, familiar once
On earth, and praised exceedingly, but now
Familiar most in hell, their dungeon fit,
Where they may war eternally with God's
Almighty thunderbolts, and win them pangs
Of keener woe,-saw, as they sprung to life,
The widow and the orphan, ready stand,
And helpless virgin, ravish'd in their sport,

To plead against them at the coming doom.
The Roman legions, boasting once, how loud,
Of liberty, and fighting bravely o'er
The torrid and the frigid zone, the sands
Of burning Egypt, and the frozen hills
Of snowy Albion, to make mankind

Their thralls-untaught, that he who made or kept
A slave, could ne'er himself be truly free-
That morning gathered up their dust, which lay
Wide scattered over half the globe; nor saw
Their eagle banners then. Sennacherib's hosts,
Embattled once against the sons of God,
With insult bold, quick as the noise of mirth
And revelry, sunk in their drunken camp
When death's dark angel, at the dead of night,

Their vitals touched, and made each pulse stand still,
Awoke in sorrow; and the multitudes

Of Gog, and all the fated crew that warred
Against the chosen saints, in the last days,
At Armageddon, when the Lord came down,
Mustering his host on Israel's holy hills,

And, from the treasures of his snow and hail,
Rained terror, and confusion rained, and death,
And gave to all the beasts and fowls of heaven,
Of captains' flesh and blood of men of war,
A feast of many days, revived, and, doomed
To second death, stood in Hamonah's vale.

Nor yet did all that fell in battle rise,
That day, to wailing. Here and there were seen
The patriot bands, that from his guilty throne
The despot tore, unshackled nations, made
The prince respect the people's laws, drove back
The wave of proud invasion, and rebuked

The frantic fury of the multitude,

Rebelled, and fought and fell for liberty

Right understood, true heroes in the speech

Of heaven, where words express the thoughts of him Who speaks; not undistinguished these, though few, That morn arose with joy and melody.

† N 2

THOMAS HOOD was born in the Poultry, London, on the 23rd May, 1799. His father was a native of Scotland, and for many years acting partner in the firm of Vernor, Hood, and Sharp, extensive booksellers and publishers. Thomas Hood was, in his childhood, remarkable for great vivacity of spirits; and at a very early age gave tokens of the genius for which he was afterwards distinguished. When a boy, our informant states, "he was continually making shrewd and pointed remarks upon topics of which he was presumed to know nothing." He finished his education at Mr. Wanostrocht's academy, Camberwell; and on leaving school, his health being precarious, he was recommended to try the effect of a sea voyage on his constitution. The sea, however. appears to have had no attractions for the future Poet: in one of the pleasantest of his poems he sums up all the annoyances to which those who are "far from the land" are invariably subjected :

"All the sea dangers,

Buccaneers, rangers,
Pirates and Salee-men,
Algerine galleymen,
Tornadoes and Typhons,
And horrible Syphons,"
&c. &c. &c.

Mr. Hood subsequently resided for a considerable period with his relatives in Dundee ; and on his return to London, having manifested a taste for drawing, and expressed a desire to pursue the art of engraving, he was articled to his uncle, Mr. Robert Sands, with a view to acquire a knowledge of the profession. He passed two years sketching with the pencil, now and then taking up the graver, but chiefly composing poetry: his compositions found their way into the "London Magazine," and at once attracted attention. A path to fame was speedily marked out for him; and he has taken his station as one of the most original and agreeable writers of the day.

The countenance of Mr. Hood was more solemn than merry: there was nothing in his appearance to indicate that wit and humour for which he became eminent. He was by no means brilliant in conversation; but seemed as if continually taking in the matter which he gave out sparingly in general society. We believe, indeed, that his mind was serious rather than comic; that the poems which have made so many readers laugh, are the produce of deep thought and study, and by no means the outbreaks of natural humour. We think we perceive this even in his merriest strains: few of them are without a touch of melancholy; and the topics he selects as fittest for him, are usually of a grave and sombre cast. We have never known him laugh heartily, either in company or in rhyme. It is highly to his credit, that with so much power in dealing with the burlesque, he has never indulged in personal satire: we look in vain through his books for a single passage that can give pain to any living person; neither does he ever verge upon indelicacy, or treat with lightness or indifference sacred subjects. Perhaps it is impossible to find a greater contrast than that which is presented by the writings of Thomas Hood and Peter Pindar. The one cannot be facetious without exhibiting venom;-the other, in his most playful moments, was never either ill-tempered or envious. Indeed kindliness, benevolence, and generosity, were the characteristics even of Mr. Hood's "satirical" productions.

It is, however, less to the humorous than to the serious compositions of Thomas Hood that we desire to direct the reader's attention. His name is so completely linked with "joking," that few are at all aware of his exquisite talent for pure and genuine poetry. While his "Whims and Oddities" have passed through many editions, his " Plea of the Midsummer Fairies" has never reached a second; and while his "Comic Annuals" recompensed him largely, his delicious Lyrics scarcely yielded sufficient to pay the printer. We refer to the few extracts we have selected, for proof that Mr. Hood has claims to a far higher and more enviable reputation than that which his "puns" have conferred upon him. More tender, more graceful, or more beautifully wrought lyrics, are scarcely to be found in the language. They "smack of the old Poets; they have all the truth and nature for which the great Bards are pre-eminent; and while Mr. Hood has caught their spirit, he has not fallen into the error that has proved fatal to many of his contemporaries,-a notion, that by copying the blots which occasionally mar the delicate beauty of their writings, he was imitating their style and character. He died in London on the 3rd May, 1845.

LADY, wouldst thou heiress be
To winter's cold and cruel part?
When he sets the river free,

Thou dost still lock up thy heart:
Thou that shouldst outlast the snow,
But in the whiteness of thy brow?

Scorn and cold neglect are made

For winter gloom and winter wind;
But thou wilt wrong the summer air,
Breathing it to words unkind:
Breath which only should belong
To love, to sunlight, and to song!