But wonder, pity, soon were quelled ;
And in her face and mien

The soul's pure brightness he beheld
Without a veil between:

He loved, he hoped, - —a holy flame
Kindled 'mid rapturous tears;
The passion of a moment came
As on the wings of years.

"Such bounty is no gift of chance,"
Exclaimed he; "righteous Heaven,
Preparing your deliverance,

To me the charge hath given.
The Czar full oft in words and deeds
Is stormy and self-willed;

But when the Lady Catherine pleads,
His violence is stilled.

"Leave open to my wish the course,

And I to her will go;

From that humane and heavenly source

Good, only good, can flow."

Faint sanction given, the Cavalier

Was eager to depart,

Though question followed question, dear

To the Maiden's filial heart.

Light was his step, his hopes, more light,

Kept pace with his desires;

And the fifth morning gave him sight

Of Moscow's glittering spires.

He sued:- heart-smitten by the wrong,
To the lorn Fugitive

The Emperor sent a pledge as strong
As sovereign power could give.

A more than mighty change! If e'er
Amazement rose to pain,

And joy's excess produced a fear

Of something void and vain,

'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned So long the lost as dead, Beheld their only Child returned,

The household floor to tread.

Soon gratitude gave way to love
Within the Maiden's breast:
Delivered and Deliverer move
In bridal garments drest;

Meek Catherine had her own reward;

The Czar bestowed a dower;

And universal Moscow shared

The triumph of that hour.

Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast

Was held with costly state;

And there, 'mid many a noble guest,

The Foster-parents sate;

Encouraged by the imperial eye,

They shrank not into shade;

Great was their bliss, the honor high
To them and nature paid!

1830.

INSCRIPTIONS.

I.

IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART., LEICESTERSHIRE.

1808.

THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine Will not unwillingly their place resign,

If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands, Planted by Beaumont's and by Wordsworth's

hands.

One wooed the silent Art with studious pains : These groves have heard the other's pensive strains;

Devoted thus, their spirits did unite

By interchange of knowledge and delight.
May Nature's kindliest powers sustain the Tree,
And Love protect it from all injury!

And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown,
Darken the brow of this memorial Stone,
Here may some Painter sit in future days,
Some future Poet meditate his lays;

Not mindless of that distant age renowned

When Inspiration hovered o'er this ground,
The haunt of him who sang how spear and shield
In civil conflict met on Bosworth-field;

And of that famous Youth, full soon removed From earth, perhaps by Shakespeare's self approved,

Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved.

II.

IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME.

OFT is the medal faithful to its trust
When temples, columns, towers, are laid in dust;
And 't is a common ordinance of fate

That things obscure and small outlive the great:
Hence, when yon mansion and the flowery trim
Of this fair garden, and its alleys dim,
And all its stately trees, are passed away,
This little Niche, unconscious of decay,
Perchance may still survive. And be it known
That it was scoped within the living stone,
Not by the sluggish and ungrateful pains
Of laborer plodding for his daily gains,
But by an industry that wrought in love;
With help from female hands, that proudly strove
To aid the work, what time these walks and bowers
Were shaped to cheer dark Winter's lonely hours.

III.

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT,
BART., AND IN HIS NAME, FOR AN URN, PLACED BY HIM
AT THE TERMINATION OF A NEWLY PLANTED AVENUE,
IN THE SAME GROUNDS.

YE Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn,
Shoot forth with livelier power at Spring's return;
And be not slow a stately growth to rear
Of pillars, branching off from year to year,
Till they have learned to frame a darksome aisle ;-
That may recall to mind that awful Pile

Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead,
In the last sanctity of fame is laid.

There, though by right the excelling Painter
sleep

Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep,
Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear
Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private tear:
Hence, on my patrimonial grounds, have I
Raised this frail tribute to his memory;
From youth a zealous follower of the Art
That he professed; attached to him in heart;
Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride
Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died.