X. Pan beheld Patroclus dying, Nox to Niobe was turn’d; From Busiris Bacchus flying, Saw his Semele inurn’d. XI. Thus fell Drury’s lofty glory, Levell’d with the shuddering stones; Mars, with tresses black and gory, Drinks the dew of pearly groans. XII. Hark! what soft Eolian numbers Gem the blushes of the morn! Break, Amphion, break your slumbers, Nature’s ringlets deck the thorn. XIII. Ha! I hear the strain erratic Dimly glance from pole to pole; Raptures sweet and dreams ecstatic Fire my everlasting soul. XIV. Where is Cupid’s crimson motion? Billowy ecstasy of woe, Bear me straight, meandering ocean, Where the stagnant torrents flow. XV. Blood in every vein is gushing, Vixen vengeance lulls my heart: See, the Gorgon gang is rushing! Never, never let us part! IX. A TALE OF DRURY LANE. BY W. S. {42} [SIR WALTER SCOTT.] [Sir Walter Scott died 21st September, 1832, in his 62nd year.] * * * * * [_To be spoken by Mr. Kemble_, _in a suit of the Black Prince’s armour_, _borrowed from the Tower_.] SURVEY this shield, all bossy bright— These cuisses twain behold! Look on my form in armour dight Of steel inlaid with gold; My knees are stiff in iron buckles, Stiff spikes of steel protect my knuckles. These once belong’d to sable prince, Who never did in battle wince; With valour tart as pungent quince, He slew the vaunting Gaul. Rest there awhile, my bearded lance, While from green curtain I advance To yon foot-lights—no trivial dance, {43a} And tell the town what sad mischance Did Drury Lane befall. THE NIGHT. On fair Augusta’s {43b} towers and trees Flitted the silent midnight breeze, Curling the foliage as it pass’d, Which from the moon-tipp’d plumage cast A spangled light, like dancing spray, Then re-assumed its still array; When, as night’s lamp unclouded hung, And down its full effulgence flung, It shed such soft and balmy power That cot and castle, hall and bower, And spire and dome, and turret height, Appeared to slumber in the light. From Henry’s chapel, Rufus’ hall, To Savoy, Temple, and St. Paul; From Knightsbridge, Pancras, Camden Town, To Redriffe, Shadwell, Horsleydown, No voice was heard, no eye unclosed, But all in deepest sleep reposed. They might have thought, who gazed around Amid a silence so profound, It made the senses thrill, That ’twas no place inhabited, But some vast city of the dead— All was so hush’d and still.