Desponding, sick, exhausted with my grief,
Awhile the founts of sorrow cease to flow ;-
In vain I rest, and sleep brings no relief,
Cheerless, companionless, I wake to woe!
Nor birth, nor beauty, shall again allure,
Nor fortune win me to another bride';
Alone I'll wander, and alone endure,

Till death restore me to my dear one's side.
Once every thought and every scene was gay,

Friends, mirth, and music, all my soul enjoyed;
Now doom'd to mourn my last sad years away;
My life a solitude, my heart a void.
Alas, the change! to change again no more,
For every comfort is with Mary fled;

And ceaseless anguish shall her loss deplore,
Till age and sorrow join me with the dead.

Adieu! each gift of nature and of art,

That erst adorn'd me in life's earliest prime;
The cloudless temper and the social heart,

The soul ethereal, and the flight sublime.
Thy loss, my Mary, chased them from my breast!
Thy sweetness cheers, thy judgement aids no more;
The muse deserts a heart with grief opprest,

And lost is every joy that charm❜d before!

Carolan did not long continue in this vale of sorrow, after the death of his beloved wife. While on a visit at the house of Mrs. Mc. Dermott, of Alderford, in the county of Roscommon, he died, in March, 1738, in the 68th year of his age.

If we reflect on the disadvantages under which he laboured, born blind, with slender opportunities of acquiring ideas, we cannot but be astonished at the prodigious powers of his genius. He has occasionally tried almost every style in music, the elegiac, the festive, the amorous, and the sacred; and has so much

excelled in each, that we scarcely know to which of them his genius is best adapted.

In Carolan's Concerto, and in his Madame Cole, the practitioner will perceive evident imitations of Corelli, in which the exuberant fancy of that admired composer is happily copied. We may form some idea of the fertility of his genius from this circumstance, that one harper who attended the Belfast meeting, who had never either seen him or been taught directly by any person, and who had had no opportunity of copying from him, had acquired upwards of a hundred of his tunes, which he said constituted but a very inconsiderable part of the real number.

It may not be amiss if I were to insert one of his poems in this place, which I think possesses great merit. It is addressed to a young lady of the name of Kelly. In these verses he describes his own helpless situation, in language which must affect the reader.

SONG.

To thee harmonious powers belong,
That add to verse the charms of song,
Soft melodies with numbers join,

And make the poet half divine.

As when the softly blushing rose,
Close by some neighbouring lily grows,
Such is the glow thy cheeks diffuse,
And such their bright and blended hues!

The timid lustre of thine eye,
With nature's purest tints can vie;
With the sweet blue bell's azure gem,

That droops upon the modest stem!

The poets of Ierni's plains

To thee devote their choicest strains;
And oft their harps for thee are strung,
And oft thy matchless charms are sung.
Since the famed fair of ancient days,
Whom bards and worlds conspired to praise,
Not one like thee has since appeared,
Like thee to every heart endeared.

How blest the bard, O lovely maid!
To find thee in thy charms arrayed;
Thy pearly teeth, thy flowing hair,
Thy neck beyond the cygnet fair.

Even he, whose hapless eyes no ray
Admit from beauty's cheering day;
Yet though he cannot see the light,
He feels it warm, and knows it bright.

In beauty, talents, taste refined,
And all the graces of the mind,
In all, unmatch'd thy charms remain,
Nor meet a rival on the plain.

AUTHORITIES:

WALKER'S Historical Memoirs of the Irish bards, Vol. 2. MISS BROOKE's relics of Irish poetry, Dublin edition, 1802, 4to.-Introduction to BUNTING's Irish music, Belfast, 1807. Belfast Magazine, vol. 3.

THE LIFE

OF

EDWARD RUSHTON.

Though train'd in boisterous elements, his mind
Was yet by soft humanity refin'd;

Brave, liberal, just, the calm domestic scene
Had o'er his temper breath'd the gay serene.

There is no history so useful to man, as the history of man; hence it is that Biography is considered, not only one of the most pleasing sources of amusement to which we can turn, but it also contains some of the best lessons of moral instruction the human mind can contemplate. In perusing the pages of Plutarch, how are we struck with the rich fund of intellectual knowledge, contained in the volumes of that inimitable author! But why confine ourselves to the pages of antiquity? The histories of all ages, and of every country, particularly that of our own, furnish many bright examples worthy our special imitation. It is peculiarly pleasing to observe, how many individuals in the middle and lower ranks of life, without the advantages of early education, have raised themselves to a distinguished place in society, by the cultivation of their lite

rary talents. Among these was Edward Rushton, of Liverpool, who, though he did not attain to the higher departments of literature, was remarkable for the clearness and perspicuity of his style, and for employing his pen in the cause of humanity and of truth.

Rushton was born on the eleventh of November, 1755, in Liverpool. His education, which he received at a free school, terminated with his ninth year. At ten, he read Anson's voyage, and resolving to be a sailor, by the time he entered his eleventh year, he was a "sea-boy on the high and giddy mast." Before seventeen, whilst yet in his apprenticeship, he was promoted to be second mate of the vessel, which a short time before he had entered as cabin boy.

He continued as second officer of the vessel until the term of his apprenticeship was expired. At this period the offer of a superior situation induced him to proceed to the coast of Africa, on a slaving voyage. When he beheld the horrors of this disgraceful traffic, he expressed his sentiments in very strong and pointed language, with that boldness and integrity which characterized his every action; and, though in a subordinate situation, he went so far, that it was thought necessary to threaten him with the irons if he did not desist.

On this voyage, whilst he was at Dominica, he was attacked by a violent inflammation in the eyes, which in three weeks totally destroyed his left eye, and the right one was entirely covered by an opacity of the cornea. This misfortune was occasioned by his exertion in assisting to relieve the necessities of his sable brethren, among whom an infectious fever had broken out.