Literary cadet and Rhode-Island statesman. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1827-1829, 1827-06-09

Ana tnefe lay one, upon whose Drow,
Age had not shed its wintry snow,
The fragment in whose clench'd hand, told
How firm on life had been his hold,
While the curled lip-thc upraised eye
Told all fathers agony!
And thore, beside the torrents path,
Too pure, too sacred for it's wrath,
Lay one, whose arms still closely pressed
An infant to her frozen brcast:-
The kiss upon its pale cheek sealed
A mothers quenchiesS iope revealed.
Sire, mother, offspring, all were there
Not one had 'scaped the conqueror's snare,
Not one was left TO weep alone
The dwellers on the hills were gone.
The wild bird soaring far on high,
Beheld them with avertcd eye;
The forest prowler as he passed,
Look'd down upon the rich repast,
But dared not banquet twas a spell,
Which bound them in that lonely dell.
And there they slept-s peacefully,
That the lone pilgrim passing by
Had deemed them Of some brighter sphere,
COi'dcmned awhile to linger here,
Whose pure eyes sickenng at the sight
OF sin and sorrows whitening blight,
Had sought in tears that silent glen,
And slumbercd, ne 'er to wake again.
And there they found them-stranger hands
Bore them to whore yon cottage stands,
And there one summer evenings close
They left them to their last repose.
Such the brief page, thy story fills,
Thou lonely cottage of the hills!
Fen while gaze, nights dusky shade
Is gatherlng-as the moonbeams fade.
Around thy walls, they family play,
They tremble-gleam--then fit away
They fade-they vanish down the dell,
Lone cottage of the hills, farewell!
At present, we shall make but one more ex-
tract, and in doing so shall copy "THE LADY
IN THE BOWER" an efiusion, which though
it possess considerable merit, is in our opin-
ion, rather defective. We submit the quest
ion, however, to the decision Of abler judges,
and must be content with simply expressing
our own opinion.
saw her in the pictured hall,
Her blush was like the mornings glow,
Her heavenly aspect promised all
That man can ask for here below.
saw her by the sacred hearth,
Where peace and purity entwinc,
And thought there could be nought on earth,
Too rich to offer at her shrine.
saw her in the blooming bower,
Where wild flowers pour their offering;
thought her smile like the spell Of power,
That dwells in the early buds Of spring.
deemed her spirit pure and bright,
With feeling, thought, and fancy beaming:
She seemed an angel form of Light
Alas!-that it was only seeming;
saw her in the festive throng,
Where aattery his song was singing:
l saw her whole soul borne along,
BY every change tho fend was ringing.
saw her triumph in the pain
OF one u stranger in our land
Who oxiled from his home-n vain,
Implorod for kindness at her hand.
saw transformed her angel smile,
To heart-withering, serpent sneer:-
I saw, and shuddering thought the while,
That one condemned Of Heaven was near.
Now tho the bower be deckcd again,
With all loves sweetest witchery,
That languid air is all in vain,
Foul sorceress, hence! begonc from me!
The author of the work, we understand, is
Mr. W. G. Crosby, a gentleman who has been
a contributor to many of the most celebrated
literary publications of the day, and who has
been heretofore known by the initials, W. G. c.
Many OF his illusions have graced the pages OF
that excellent periodical publication, the Bos-
ton Lyccum; and two or three of his produc-
tions, added much to the interest and reputa-
ton Of the " .Nemorial.'' We conceive Mr..
Crosby to be an able and sweet poet, and
are sorry to add, that we do not think that his
book, coming in the odd shape that it does,
will add much to his fame. If it had received
the title of Poems by William q. Crosby or
'Crosby's Pocms,' it might be extensively read,
and gain fresh laurcls for its author. But as it
is called Illustrations Of the Athennum,' -
hundreds who take it up, suppose it to be a
kind of catalogue Of paintings, or a series Of
pootcal essays, explanatory of the paintings of
the Atheneum Gallery. We wish Mr.. Crosby
TO distinctly understand, that it is his title page,
not his book, that we find fault with ;-and at
the same time, shall suggest to him that many
a good book has been thrown aside, simply be-
cause of its bad title. Nine tenths Of the peo-
pie, who look at the title page Of Mr. Crosby s
book, conclude, without opening it, that it is
any thing else than a volume of poetry. On a
future occasion, we shall speak moro particu-
larly Of this performance.
.@n
WESTERN QUARTERLY REvIEw.--For a