TO THE MEMORY OF

The Princess Charlotte of Wales.

"Amidst th' acclaim of universal praise;
In Life and Glory's freshest bloom,
Death came remorseless on, and sunk her to the tomb."

LORD LYTTLETON.

EVEN thus, in the flower of youth—in the bloom of loveliness—
bright with anticipation—beaming with intelligence—beloved, and
blest in the fulness of mutual affection—surrounded with splendor—
sweetened by self desert—gifted to irradiate the glory of a throne, or
shed lustre on retirement—her Native Land's delight—her Royal
Father's pride—her Princely Consort's All :—Even thus, in the rich
harvest of the past—in the fond promise of the future—fell, like a
“ lily o'ercharged with rain,” the fairest of BRUNSWICK's daughters.

Peace to her Angel Spirit!—sad and desolate are the mourners she
has left behind, for her life was lovely, and full of hope. In the
smile of her benevolence she cherished the poor and forsaken ones—
and they shall cherish her name, and venerate her memory, in un-
polluted tears, fast flowing from the heart. Peace to her Angel Spirit!
for she was all her Albion's daughter—glowing with Patriotism—but
she is gone—her beauteous star is set for ever—and Albion weeps her
lovely one.

Peace to her Angel Spirit! for she was Brunswick's sweetest flower
—Beauty sparkled in her eye—Hope hung enraptured on her smile—
and Pity and Charity, like twin roses, grew together in her gentle
bosom, "stealing and giving odours." Weep, Albion, for thy fondest
hope is blasted—Weep, Brunswick, for thy brightest gem is faded—
Weep!—Yet wherefore weep?—her life was spotless, and eternal
happiness is her reward.

J. W. L.

*From the Morning Post of Nov. 11th.*