Annihilation!--this, Was once, the startling bliss I forc'd my soul to fancy Death should give! But, whilst I shudd'ring bless The hopes--of--nothingness, A something sighs: "Beyond the grave I live!" Tophet! I thrill! for scorn'd Was the sere thought, though warn'd Ofttimes that Death, enclos'd that dread abyss! Now, by each burning vein And venom'd conscience--pain I know the terrors of that world, in this! Heaven! ay, 'tis in Death For him, whose fragile breath Wends from a breast of piety and peace, But darkness, chains, and dree Eternal, are for me Since Death's tremendous myst'ries never cease! M.L.B. * * * * * TO JUDY. (_For the Mirror_.) I have thought of you much since we parted, And wished for you every day, And often the sad tear has started, And often I've brush'd it away; When the thought of thy sweet smile come o'er me Like a sunbeam the tempest between, And the hope of thy love shone before me So brilliantly bright and serene, I remember thy last vow that made me Forget all my sorrow and care, And I think of the dear voice that bade me Awake from the dream of despair. I regard not the gay scene around me, The smiles of the young and the free, Have not _now_ the soft charm that once bound me. For _that_ hath been broken by _thee_; And tho' voices, _dear_ voices are teeming, With friendship and gladness, and wit, And a welcome from bright eyes is beaming, I cannot, I cannot, forget-- I may join in the dance and the song, And laugh with the witty and gay, Yet the heart and best feelings that throng Around it, are far, far away. Dost remember the scene we last traced, love, When the smile from night's radiant queen Beamed bright o'er the valley, and chased love The spirit of gloom from the scene? And the riv'let how heedless it rushed, love, From its home in the mountain away, And the wild rose how faintly it blush'd, love, In the light of the moon's silver ray: Oh, that streamlet was like unto me, Parting from whence its brightness first sprung, And that sweet rose was the emblem of thee, As so pale on my bosom you hung. Dearest, _why_ did I leave thee behind me, Oh! why did I leave thee at all, Ev'ry day that dawns, only can find me In sorrow, and tho' the sweet thrall Of my heart serves to cheer and to check me When sorrow or passion have sway, Yet I'd rather have thee to _hen-peck_[1] me, Than be from thy bower away; And, dear Judy, I'm still what you found me, When we met in the grove by the rill, I forget not the spell that first bound me, And I shall not, till feeling be still. F. BERINGTON. [1] _Hen-pecked_, to be governed _by a wife_, (see Johnson.) * * * * * ANCIENT PLACES OF SANCTUARY IN LONDON AND WESTMINSTER.