As if by magic's changeful wand, Taste, beauty, order, strength combine; And shew a mighty master's hand In every graceful curve and line. But meaner temples strive in vain Perfection's envied height to gain; For in our matchless Street alone, The charm of perfect beauty's known. How blest, if at that living shrine, With deepest feeling, warm and true, The nameless happiness were mine, To bend in form--and spirit too. But no--though in my ardent breast, The fires of love must ever rise, Th' adverse circles of my fate, Forbid the outward sacrifice. My spirit breathes its inmost breath, In this my first--my last confession:-- The passion will survive till death, But never more can know expression. W. * * * * * CHILDE'S TOMB. (_For the Mirror._) From "time out of mind" a tradition has existed in Dartmoor, Devon, and is noticed by several writers, that one _John Childe_, of Plymstock, a gentleman of large possessions, and a noted hunter, whilst enjoying that sport during a very inclement season, was benighted, lost his way, and perished through cold and fear, in the south quarter of the forest, near Fox-tor, after taking the precaution to kill his horse, (which he much valued), as a last resource, and for the sake of warmth and prolonging life, to creep into its bowels, leaving a paper, denoting, that whoever should find and bury his body, should have his lands at Plymstock. "_The furste that fyndes and bringes me to my grave, The landes of Plymstoke they shal have_." This couplet was found on his person afterwards. Childe, having no issue, had previously declared his intention of bestowing his estates upon the church wherein he might be buried, which coming to the knowledge of the monks of Tavistock, they eagerly seized the body, and were conveying it to that place; but learning on the way, that some people of Plymstock were waiting at a ford to intercept the prey, they cunningly ordered a bridge to be built out of the usual track, thence pertinently called _Guile_-bridge, and succeeding in their object, became possessed of the lands until the dissolution, when the Russell family received a grant of them, and still retain it. In memory of Childe, a tomb was erected to him in a place a little below Fox-tor, where he perished, which stood perfect till about fifteen years since; but it has been destroyed by some ignorant "landlord or tenant," for building materials, and it is now in a ruinous condition. It was composed of hewn granite, the under basement comprising four stones, six feet long by four square, and eight stones more, growing shorter as the pile ascended, with an octagonal basement, above three feet high, and a cross affixed to it. The whole, when perfect, wore an antique and impressive appearance, and it may now, as it is, be looked upon as an object of antiquity and curiosity.