Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell,
The chasten'd touch and faultless line!

Each fiction under their command,
Assumes an air severely true,
And, every vision, wildly grand,
Life's measur'd pace and modest hue.

Reason and fancy, rival powers!
Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend;
To decorate her way with flowers,
The minor graces all attend!

This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has
appeared in the Athenaeum.

* * * * *


THE HEIR.

See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn!
How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye!
Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn,
He saddens pleasure as he passes by.

Long kept in exile by paternal pride,
He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome;
For, till the elder child of promise died,
He knew a dearer, though a humbler home.