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has burst forth among the young and brilliant leaders of the Conservative band, encourage the warmest hopes of the fate of the empire, when they arrive at such a station as to rule its councils. Difficulties and dangers create men; and the ability which in ordinary times might be buried in obscurity, or perhaps lost in frivolity, is, in these stirring and trying times, called to a nobler sphere, and trained to the exercise of more animating duties. It is with feelings of no ordinary pride that we notice the brilliant exertions which Scotland has made at this eventful crisis. Manchester has rejected Mr Hope; Roxburghshire will probably do the same to Lord John Scott. These events only prove the total unfitness of the class to whom the Reform Bill has given power, to exercise it to their own or their country's advantage, and sets off in brighter colours, by the force of contrast, the splendid talents which they were unable to appreciate. The brilliant eloquence, sound constitutional principles, and enlarged views of these eminent young men, prove how fit they were to form the brightest ornaments of the Senate; their rejection, the miserable prospect of salvation which the Reform Bill affords to the country. But let them not be discouraged; the time will come, when they will speak to as willing as they have hitherto found adverse audiences among the lower orders, and when the admiration which they have universally awakened among the educated gentlemen who could understand, will be shared by the ignorant multitude, who will then have learnt by suffering to appreciate them.

Let those who are depressed by the portentous strength of the Revolutionary party in the new Parliament, console themselves by the reflection of the fleeting nature of popular opinion. Let them recollect what England was when it ran mad with democracy in 1642, and when it was intoxicated with loyalty in 1661. Let them reflect on the revolutionary fervour which convulsed France in 1789, and contemplate the whole National Guard of Paris six years after combating the forces of the Convention, to restore the royal authority in that afflicted city. Let them think of the Duke of Wellington, the idol of the people, the pride of his coun

try, in 1815, and the same hero stoned in the streets of London in 1830. Let them call to mind the democratic fervour of the time of the Gracchi, and the subsequent reflection of Tiberius," Oh homines ad servitutem parati! Let them recollect the transports of Paris and France at the triumph of the barricades, and behold France in two years after bearing with tranquillity the despotic ordinances of Marshal Soult, and preparing, by an overwhelming majority in the Chamber of Deputies, the total extinction of the Liberty of the Press! Examples of this kind, drawn from that inexhaustible mine of political wisdom, the record of past events, are fitted to afford consolation to the rational and upright mind, even in the worst emergencies. They shew, that of all fleeting things, the opinion of the people is the most fleeting; that madness and folly bring about a certain and speedy retribution in the affairs of nations as well as individuals; and that no cause is hopeless to those who have the vigour to maintain, and the courage to defend it.

The duty of the Conservative band, who, in the midst of the general democratic madness, find a place in the Legislature, is sufficiently plain. Let them adhere steadily to their principles; recollect that on them, as the sacred band of Thebans, the sole hopes of their country now rest; and that, victorious or vanquished, the admiration of posterity and the gratitude of their country will attend them if they never swerve from the path of duty. Let them join in no coalitions to throw out the Ministry; disgrace themselves by no unions for a momentary triumph with the Radicals; but steadily and uniformly consider Revolution as the demon which they are sent there to combat, and, by the blessing_of God, will ultimately conquer. By uniformly adhering to this principle, they will remain perfectly clear of the march of innovation, and all its ruinous excesses and consequences: they will have nothing to reproach themselves with in their public career; and when suffering has taught the people their errors, and anguish has tamed their passions, it is to them that the nation will turn with tears of repentance, and their patriotism which it will celebrate in strains of exultation.

HYMNS OF LIFE.

BY MRS HEMANS.

I.

THE PRAYER OF THE LONELY STudent.

Soul of our souls! and safeguard of the world!
Sustain-Thou only cans't-the sick at heart,
Restore their languid spirits, and recall
Their lost affections unto Thee and Thine.

WORDSWORTH.

NIGHT-holy night!-the time

For Mind's free breathings in a purer clime!
Night!-when in happier hour the unveiling sky
Woke all my kindled soul,

To meet its revelations, clear and high,
With the strong joy of Immortality!

Now hath strange sadness wrapp'd me-strange and deep-
And my thoughts faint, and shadows o'er them roll,
E'en when I deem'd them seraph-plumed, to sweep
Far beyond Earth's control.

Wherefore is this?-I see the stars returning,
Fire after fire in Heaven's rich Temple burning,
Fast shine they forth-my spirit-friends, my guides,
Bright rulers of my being's inmost tides;

They shine-but faintly, through a quivering haze-
Oh! is the dimness mine which clouds those rays?
They, from whose glance my childhood drank delight!
A joy unquestioning-a love intense-

They, that unfolding to more thoughtful sight,

The harmony of their magnificence,

Drew silently the worship of my youth

To the grave sweetness on the brow of truth;

Shall they shower blessing, with their beams divine,
Down to the watcher on the stormy sea,

And to the pilgrim, toiling for his shrine,
Through some wild pass of rocky Appennine,
And to the wanderer lone,

On wastes of Afric thrown,
And not to me?

Am I a thing forsaken,

And is the gladness taken

From the bright-pinion'd Nature, which hath soar'd
Through realms by royal eagle ne'er explored,
And, bathing there in streams of fiery light,
Found strength to gaze upon the Infinite?

And now an alien !-Wherefore must this be?
How shall I rend the chain?

How drink rich life again

From those pure stores of radiance, welling free?
Father of Spirits! let me turn to Thee!

Oh! if too much exulting in her dower,
My soul, not yet to lowly thought subdued,
Hath stood without Thee on her Hill of Power-
A fearful and a dazzling solitude!—

And therefore from that radiant summit's crown,
To dim Desertion is by Thee cast down;
Behold! thy child submissively hath bow'd,
Shine on him thro' the cloud!

Let the now darken'd earth and curtain'd Heaven
Back to his vision with Thy face be given !
Bear him on High once more,

But on Thy strength to soar,

And wrapt and still'd by that o'ershadowing might,
Forth on the empyreal blaze to look with chasten'd sight.

Or if it be, that like the ark's lone dove,

My thoughts go forth, and find no resting-place,
No sheltering home of sympathy and love,
In the responsive bosoms of my race,
And back return, a darkness and a weight,
Till my unanswer'd heart grows desolate;
Yet, yet sustain me, Holiest !-I am vow'd
To solemn service high;

And shall the spirit, for thy tasks endow'd,
Sink on the threshold of the sanctuary,
Fainting beneath the burden of the day,
Because no human tone,

Unto the altar-stone,

Of that pure spousal Fane inviolate,
Where it should make eternal Truth its mate,
May cheer the sacred solitary way?

Oh! be the whisper of thy voice within,
Enough to strengthen! Be the hope to win
A more deep-seeing homage for Thy name,
Far, far beyond the burning dream of Fame!
Make me Thine only !-Let me add but one
To those refulgent steps all undefiled,

Which glorious minds have piled
Thro' bright self-offering, earnest, child-like, low,
For mounting to Thy throne!

Aud let my soul, upborne

On wings of inner morn,

Find, in illumined secrecy, the sense
Of that blest work, its own deep recompense.

The dimness melts away,
That on your glory lay,

Oh! ye majestic watchers of the skies!

Through the dissolving veil,

Which made each aspect pale,
Your gladdening fires once more I recognise ;
And once again a shower

Of Hope, and Joy, and Power,
Streams on my soul from your immortal eyes.
And, if that splendour to my sobered sight
Come tremulous, with more of pensive light;
Something, tho' beautiful, yet deeply fraught,
With more that pierces thro' each fold of thought,
Than I was wont to trace,

On Heaven's unshadowed face;
Be it e'en so!-be mine, tho' set apart
Unto a radiant ministry, yet still

A lowly, fearful, self-distrusting heart;

Bow'd before Thee, O Mightiest ! whose blest will
All the pure stars rejoicingly fulfil

II.

THE TRAVELLER'S EVENING SONG.

FATHER, guide me! Day declines,
Hollow winds are in the pines;
Darkly waves each giant-bough
O'er the sky's last crimson glow;
Hush'd is now the convent's bell,
Which erewhile with breezy swell
From the purple mountains bore
Greeting to the sunset-shore.
Now the sailor's vesper-hymn
Dies away.

Father! in the forest dim
Be my stay!

In the low and shivering thrill
Of the leaves, that late hung still;
In the dull and muffled tone
Of the sea-wave's distant moan;
In the deep tints of the sky,
There are signs of tempest nigh.
Ominous, with sullen sound,
Falls the closing dusk around.
Father! through the storm and shade
O'er the wild,

Oh! be Thou the lone one's aid-
Save thy child!

Many a swift and sounding plume
Homewards, through the boding gloom,
O'er my way hath flitted fast,

Since the farewell sunbeam pass'd
From the chestnut's ruddy bark,
And the pools, now low and dark,
Where the wakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, homeward, all things haste-
God of might!

Shield the homeless midst the waste,
Be his light!

In his distant cradle-nest,
Now my babe is laid to rest;
Beautiful his slumber seems
With a glow of heavenly dreams,
Beautiful, o'er that bright sleep,
Hang soft eyes of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray,
For the loved and far away.-
Father! guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer!

Back, through thine all-guiding power,
Lead me there!

Darker, wilder, grows the night-
Not a star sends quivering light
Through the massy arch of shade
By the stern old forest made.

Thou! to whose unslumbering eyes
All my pathway open lies,
By thy Son, who knew distress®
In the lonely wilderness,

Where no roof to that blest head
Shelter gave-

Father! through the time of dread,
Save, oh! save!

DESPAIR.

BY THE HON. AUGUSTA NORTON.

WHEN forced to join the thoughtless throng,
And listen to the midnight song;
When forced to mingle in the dance,
Return the nod, and passing glance
Of smiling fair-I do but dream
I am the thing that others seem.
What though the lip may smile at will!
“The heart—the heart is lonely still!"

Consumption's cheek ne'er looks more pure
And lovely, than when past all cure;
And yet that bloom, so fresh, so still,
Has lent its little aid to kill,

And speaks to those who watch its hue
Of sickness, death, and suffering too;
Though who, just viewing aught so fair,
Could ever dream that death was there!

And could we see the hearts of those,
Who haunt the crowd to drown their woes,
Conceal'd beneath their smiles, we'd find
Despair-consumption of the mind!

As sure its end-its means more slow-
Its seeming health a feverish glow,
Which throws around a fitful light,
Then dies-and leaves it doubly night.

Then, when you see me smile and laugh
With those who pleasure's goblet quaff;
Think, though you see me drink as deep,
Despair may smile, but cannot weep-
Nay, smile in mockery, alas !—
As bloom can o'er the features pass,
When all is death within-yet feel
A pang that smile can but conceal."

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