On this page
-
Text (5)
-
Untitled Article
-
Untitled Article
-
Untitled Article
-
Untitled Article
-
Untitled Article
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
-
-
Transcript
-
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
Untitled Article
VERSES ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE . [ From the Newspapers . ] There is an outward pomp , a garb of woe , That sometimes follows sovereigns to the tomb : There is a soul-felt grief that sighs at home
And presses on the heart . The great , the low Alike feel this : and , oh lamented shade , To thy dear loss shall every rite be paid , And the sad tear of fond affection flow ! 'Tis not the sable garb , the room of State , The minute bell that tells the fatal tale j—Shf , She is gone for whom we felt elate ;
'Tis the fond wife , the mother , we bewail , Young , loving * and beloved 5 the good , the great , She was a nation ' s hope—a nation ' s pride : With her that pride has fled—those hopes have died . Bromley * Middlesex * Nov . 6 , 1817 .
Untitled Article
When on high , in happier day , We lift the laudatory lay , Or blessings on thy people pray , We'll think on tbee in Heaven
Untitled Article
VERSES Written by a Lady during her pregnancy and given to her husband after her safe delivery * a few days subsequent to a ( ate much-lamented event .
[ From the Times . J MY God , whose all-directing power Hath brought me to this awful hour , Thy suppliant deign to hear : Ah ! wherefore are my spirits fled ? Why feels my heart this solemn dread ? Art Thou not always near ?
Then turn not , Lord , thy face away , Pour on my soul Hope ' s cheering ray , Strengthen my feeble frame : Loj on the couch of sorrow laid , Dark clouds seem gathering round my head And pain succeeds to pain .
Deeper and deeper sinks my soul ; Suspence ! how heavy tby contronl Weighs on the feeble mind ! No hope have I in human skill , Except God ' s purpose to fulfil , Oh , be that purpose kind I
A moment and my life is gone , Or doubly saved , thy will be done On earth as in the skies : My prayer is heard , away my fears , That heavenly sound salutes my ears , A new-horn infant ' s cries !
Untitled Article
ELEGIAC LINES * ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF AN INFANT . Non omnia terrae Obruta ! Vivit amor , vivit dolor ! Ora negatur Dulcia conspicere ; at flere et memhrisse relictum est .
She droop'd and died , ah ! fatal hour ! The sweetest and the loveliest flow ' r—Charm of our life , our daily theme , The golden vision of each dream ! Like fleecy snow , the waters bore ,-f-A moment seen , then seen no more !
All lies not buried in the earth , Tho" hope hath perish'd in its birth—Grief , rooted in the heart , still thrives , And self-tormenting love survives!—Of her endearing form bereft , Yet tears and iheui ' ry artill are Jefl ! Nov 18 . * . * .
* Adapted to an old Welsh air , harmonized by Mr . Major , -f See Burns .
Untitled Article
686 Poetry . —On the Death of the Princess Charlotte , < $ r .
Untitled Article
Toll , Britain , loll Thy knell the deepest . Peace to thy soul , Fair Saint , that sleepest . Veil tby valour-blazon'd throne , Where olive rich with laurel shone ,
DIRGE ON THE FUNERAL OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES . BY J . F M . DOVASTON , ESQ . A . M . AUTHOR OF " THE BRITISH MELODIES , " &C . [ Mwynen Gwynedd—( The Melody of North Wales ) . Welsh Air harmonized ]
Its glory ' s now with willows strown , United nations spread them . Cambria ' s tripple plume of snow , That danc'd in Joy ' s elastic flow , With heavy teardrops glimmers low , United nations shed them .
O ' er Albion s bier Mourn , while ye show ' r it , Her roses there , Both flow ' r and flow ' ret . Thistle , bend thy blossoms red ; Thy pearly dew-drops , Shamrock shed - And , neighbour Lily , bow thy head ,
With long * , long farewell greet her Drooping" wail her obsequies , Then up , and hail her to the skies , And hope another bud may rise , But never hope a sweeter . Oh ! England ' s rose , Oh I Hope ' s presuming 5 Both thee and those
Now we ' re entombing . Mind of Freedom * . Heart of Worth , To glow at Altar , Helm , or Hearth , With all that promis ed Peace on earth , To thee was largely given .
-
-
Citation
-
Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Nov. 2, 1817, page 686, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2470/page/46/
-