Then, while th' infernal regions rung,
Her nurse wan Hecate * upsprung,
And left her rocking bed of stone;
And with a fitful, gloomy start,
In vice's agonizing smart,

Clasp'd to her breast the child she singled for her own.

She lives no more!

Distain'd with gore,

Beneath yon stone her paly corse is laid;

While each poor soul that

Victim of lawless tyranny,

passes by,

Calls on her loathed name, and imprecates her shade.

The hoary pilgrim slow, with faltering tread
Pauses in yon portentous gloom,

And, as he lists her awful doom,

Rears his clasp'd hands, and shakes his silver head. "Is this the dust an empire once could sway, "That once stalk'd proudly o'er fair Russia's land; "A queen, who said, World, hear me, and obey+;' "Who slaughter'd millions with remorseless hand?. "How fallen, fallen, from her high estate:'"Due homage paid her in the realms of fate!

* Milton thus accents the word Hecate in the following marginal distich.

"Wherein thou rid'st with Hecate,
"And favour our close jocondrie."

Vide Newton's Ed. vol. iv. p. 102.

+"Who said'st the distant poles shall hear me, and obey."

Dryden's Ode on St. Cecilia's Day.

DRYDEN.

46

There, enthron'd amidst her peers, "Relentless fiends around her wait,

"And, as they weave the woof of fate,

"Pour on man's destin'd head each tort'ring ill-
"Prone to fulfil their own, to anticipate her will.
"What savage rapture glances in their eye
"At each rife-scene of untried misery!
"Yes, their's the care-corrosive smart
"That vibrates to affliction's heart,

"And wakes in every nerve the pang of keen despair. "Is this the queen at whose command,

Starting like bloodhounds from the slip,

"With speed that would the winds outstrip, Rapine and war stalk'd o'er Podolia's land? "Yes, 'tis the same: but, now, no more "Shall stern captivity protect the door, "Where virtue*, suff'ring in her country's cause, "Her rightful freedom supplicates in vain ; "No more shall patriot worth complain, "As when, of erst, in each long pause, "The gaunt, grim spectre of insatiate power, "Strode through the chilly vaults, and hail'd the murky hour."

"The knell + of death, with stern control,

ተ

"No more shall harrow up her soul,

66

"Nor stun her tranced ear;

But, shades of still uncoffin'd dead,' "Shall dance around her rocky bed, "And riot o'er her bier."

* General Kosciusko.

It is said, that for many years preceding her death, Catherine could not hear any funeral knell, nor be witness to any funeral procession, without evincing the greatest horror. Wherefore, those rites had been lately performed at midnight.

"Yes, ye who gasp'd near Ismael's * tower,
"The victims of unhallow'd power;
"Or, ye who by the Dwina's stream,
"Beneath oppression's banner fell,

"Whose death-bell was the widow's scream,
"And mailed conquest's' vaunting yell,
"Now, o'er her fall, pour triumph's strain.
"And thout, whose too-forgiving heart,
"Gor'd by rancour's venom'd dart,
"Oft has felt her harpy fang

66

Arm with fresh poignancy each pang,
Head, head the immolated train:

"In night's wan noon, and murky glare,

"With anguish'd mien, with wounds all bare,

"Dance yelling round her gore cemented tomb; "Swell, swell the grave's impervious gloom; "Chase her cold sleep with wildest screams of woe; "Bid the vengeful torments glow;

"And mark, in characters of blood, the vile assassin's "doom."

197

EPIGRAM.

FROM THE GREEK.
Ηλιος ἀνθρώποις κ. τ. λ.

THE sun to mortals is the source of light:
Yet should he dare insult me with his rays,
I would revolt against th' oppressive blaze,
Scorn him, and rather dwell in endless night.

ETONENSIS.

*The fortress of Ismael was taken by the Russians, after a continued siege of seven months; the last assault alone cost the lives of 15,000 men.

+ Peter III. her husband.

A PARAPHRASE

ON THE FIRST AND SECOND VERSES OF THE 14TH CHAPTER OF THE BOOK OF JOB.

WRITTEN BY DR. RUSSELL, ON THE DEATH OF AN ONLY SON.

I.

WHEN now the destin❜d period run
Mature arrives the wish'd-for birth,
Lo! the fond parents hail their son,
And all around is joy and mirth.

II.

Swift fly the hours, the days, the years,
And, see! the child to man is grown ;
But manhood fails, grim death appears,
And the poor phantom life is flown.

Thus, at the dawn of genial day,
The gilded flow'r from earth's soft womb
Comes smiling forth, in rich array,

And glads all nature with its bloom.

IV.

But, ah! ere evening shadows rise,

Or setting sun-beams quit the plain,

The lovely transient blossom dies,

And shrinks to earth's soft womb again.

EVENING BELLS.

GLIMMERS now each silvery star,
Sinks each sound upon the gale;
Save the rural bells afar,

From the steeple in the vale.
Once as Ellen wander'd there,
Edwin met the musing fair:
"Ellen! sister! whence that sigh?
"Heaves that pensive bosom why?

"Does a gentle passion, pure,
"Artless, angel-holy, move
"Ellen's breast, her heart allure-
"Sister Ellen! is it love?"
Sighs, suppressing now their swell,
Edwin mark'd-a tear too fell.
"Ellen! whence the half-form'd sigh?
"And the tender tear-drop why?"

'Twas not love. Too long the maid,
Edwin's open, noble mien,
Sickness' hue had seen o'ershade,
Death's approaches silent seen.
Sorrow held her bosom's sway,
But fond Ellen could not say:
"Brother! 'tis for thee I sigh;
"Dearest brother! wilt thou die?"