Blessed! for she shelter'd him From the damp and chilling air;-- Blessed, blessed! for she lay With such a babe in one blest bed, Close as babes and mothers lie! Blessed, blessed evermore, With her virgin lips she kiss'd, With her arms, and to her breast, She embraced the babe divine, Her babe divine the virgin mother! There lives not on this ring of earth A mortal that can sing her praise. Mighty mother, virgin pure, In the darkness and the night For us she bore the heavenly Lord. 1810 "Most interesting is it to consider the effect, when the feelings are wrought above the natural pitch by the belief of something mysterious, while all the images are purely natural: then it is that religion and poetry strike deepest."--'Biog. Lit.' vol. i. p. 204. ISRAEL'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES. FROM THE HEBREW OF HYMAN HURWITZ. Mourn, Israel! Sons of Israel, mourn! Give utterance to the inward throe, As wails of her first love forlorn The virgin clad in robes of woe! Mourn the young mother snatch'd away From light and life's ascending sun! Mourn for the babe, death's voiceless prey, Earn'd by long pangs, and lost ere won! Mourn the bright rose that bloom'd and went, Ere half disclosed its vernal hue! Mourn the green bud, so rudely rent, It brake the stem on which it grew! Mourn for the universal woe, With solemn dirge and falt'ring tongue; For England's Lady is laid low, So dear, so lovely, and so young! The blossoms on her tree of life Shone with the dews of recent bliss;-- Translated in that deadly strife She plucks its fruit in Paradise. Mourn for the prince, who rose at morn To seek and bless the firstling bud Of his own rose, and found the thorn, Its point bedew'd with tears of blood. Mourn for Britannia's hopes decay'd;-- Her daughters wail their dear defence, Their fair example, prostrate laid, Chaste love, and fervid innocence! O Thou! who mark'st the monarch's path, To sad Jeshurun's sons attend! Amid the lightnings of thy wrath The showers of consolation send! Jehovah frowns!--The Islands bow, And prince and people kiss the rod! Their dread chastising judge wert Thou-- Be Thou their comforter, O God! 1817. SENTIMENTAL. The rose that blushes like the morn Bedecks the valleys low; And so dost thou, sweet infant corn, My Angelina's toe. But on the rose there grows a thorn That breeds disastrous woe; And so dost thou, remorseless corn, On Angelina's toe. 1825. THE ALTERNATIVE. This way or that, ye Powers above me! I of my grief were rid-- Did Enna either really love me, Or cease to think she did. 1826. THE EXCHANGE. We pledged our hearts, my love and I,-- I in my arms the maiden clasping; I could not tell the reason why, But, oh! I trembled like an aspen.