The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 403, December 5, 1829

Gave moisture to her lips and hue.

These were her infant spoils, a store
To which in time she added more;
At twelve she stole from Cyprus' Queen
Her air and love-commanding mien;
Stole Juno's dignity, and stole
From Pallas sense, to charm the soul;
She sung—amaz'd the Sirens heard
And to assert their voice appear'd.

She play'd, the Muses from their hill,
Marvell'd who thus had stole their skill;
Apollo's wit was next her prey,
Her next the beam that lights the day;
While Jove her pilferings to crown,
Pronounc'd these beauties all her own;
Pardon'd her crimes, and prais'd her art,
And t'other day she stole—my heart.

Cupid, if lovers are thy care,
Revenge thy vot'ry on this fair;
Do justice on her stolen charms,
And let her prison be—my arms.

    W.H.H.

SHAKSPEARE

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

In the Drama entitled Shakspeare's Early Days, the compliment which the poet is made to pay the queen: "That as at her birth she wept when all around was joy, so at her death she will smile while all around is grief," has been admired by the critics. In this jewel-stealing age, it is but just to restore the little brilliant to its owner. The following lines are in Sir William Jones's Life, translated by him from one of the Eastern poets, and are so exquisitely beautiful that I think they will be acceptable to some of your fair readers for their albums.

    T.B.

TO AN INFANT

On parent's knees, a naked new-born child,
Weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee smil'd.
So live, that sinking to thy last long sleep,
Calm thou may'st smile, while all around thee—weep.

THE RUINED WELL

(For the Mirror.)

The form of ages long gone by
Crowd thick on Fancy's wondering eye,
And wake the soul to musings high!

    J.T. WALTER.
Where are the lights that shone of yore
Around this haunted spring?
Do they upon some distant shore
Their holy lustre fling?
It was not thus when pilgrims came
To hymn beneath the night,
And dimly gleam'd the censor's flame
When stars and streams were bright.

What art thou—since five hundred years
Have o'er thy waters roll'd;
Since clouds have wept their crystal tears
From skies of beaming gold?
Thy rills receive the tint of heaven,
Which erst illum'd thy shrine;
And sweetest birds their songs have given,
For music more divine.

Beside thee hath the maiden kept
Her vigils pale and lone;
While darkly have her ringlets swept
The chapel's sculptur'd stone;
And when the vesper-hymn was sung
Around the warrior's bier,
With cross and banner o'er him hung,
What splendour crown'd thee here!

But a cloud has fall'n upon thy fame!
The woodman laves his brow,
Where shrouded monks and vestals came
With many a sacred vow;
And bluely gleams thy sainted spring
Beneath the sunny tree;
Then let no heart its sadness bring,
When Nature is with thee.

    REGINALD AUGUSTINE.
A Siamese Chief hearing an Englishman expatiate upon the magnitude of our navy, and afterwards that England was at peace, cooly observed, "If you are at peace with all the world, why do you keep up so great a navy?"

THE SKETCH-BOOK

WRECK ON A CORAL REEF

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

I take the liberty of transmitting you an authentic, though somewhat concise, narrative of the loss of the Hon. Company's regular ship, "Cabalva," (on the Cargados, Carajos, in the Indian Seas, in latitude 16° 45 s.) in July, 1818, no detailed account having hitherto appeared. The following was written by one of the surviving officers, in a letter to a friend.

    A CONSTANT READER.