more blue
Than violets in their vernal bloom, the neck
Swanlike, and moulded with ethereal grace;
And feel their magic influence on my mind.
I will embody them, and give the stamp
Of fervid genius to their various charms,
Ere this last aspiration is extinct
In the unbroken slumbers of the tomb!
For I have had prophetic monitors
To warn me of my fate, and I must leave
All that is lovely in this lovely world.

It is a summer eve--the sunbeams tinge
The glassy bosom of the quiet lake;
The music of the birds enchants the air,
And Nature's verdant robe is gemm'd with flow'rs.
From which the breeze derives its liquid balm.
Oh! in my youth, this hour has been to me
Bright as the fairy arch upon the clouds
Of earthly grief and gloom, and even now
It gives the silent fountain of my heart
A renovated action, and recalls
The energies that long ago were mine.
My fancy wanders as I thus portray
The lineaments on which 'tis bliss to gaze:
How beautiful their prototype! to whom
I breath'd in youth the most impassion'd words,
And felt as if Elysium had disclosed
Its glory to my eye--around this brow,
Stainless as marble, cluster golden curls
Like sunbeams on the bosom of the cloud,
And o'er the radiant azure orbs beneath,
The snowy lids suspend their glossy fringe.
Upon such beauty shall my pencil stamp
Its immortality, and make it seem
More beautiful in Fancy's softest glow;
And, my beloved! when this warm hand that traced
Thy pictured charms is mouldering in the dust,
Thou wilt proclaim the painter's mastery,
And consecrate the canvass with a power
Which shall defy the wasting hand of Time!

G.R.C.

* * * * *

PRESERVATION OF A HUMAN BODY.

In a vault under the Font of the Old Church of St. Dunstan in the
West, has lately been discovered the leaden coffin of a "Mr. Moody,"
(without a Christian name,) who "died in the year 1747, aged 70
years." After this interment of 85 years, the face was found not
decomposed, but perfect; the mouth extended--the teeth and eye-brows
unimpaired, and to the touch, the flesh solid (covered with a cloth)
and no appearance of worms; which puzzles the common opinion that such
insects prey upon the dead:

"And food for worms brave Percy!"

exclaimed Prince Henry over the expiring body of Hotspur.

This observation was made by a pe