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"Well, well, no matter, still I feel
My talent's dearth supplied by zeal ;

Away then, base dejection !
This scrawl, whate'er its want of wit,
If Lady Blessington think fit
So very much to honour it,

May rest in her recollection.”

The charms, mental and personal, of Lady Blessington were fully appreciated by another literary celebrity, as we learn from the following lines, terminating some others, descriptive of the frivolous amusements of belles wholly devoted to the varying mode, and each recurring change in the empire of fashion. " But thy bright mind eclipsing e'en thy face,

The Muse with justice claims thee from the grace.
Thought gives the gems which love in beauty set,

every fairy at thy cradle met.
From the dull world around escaped awhile,
I breathe the air which brightens in thy smile :
Ah! half already of that gift possess’d,
Which, conquering space, is destined to the blessed,
How little thought-this gaoler flesh can bar
Our souls how rarely, where our bodies are.”


I send

Note , accompanying lines to Lady Blessington, by F. Mills,

57, Audley Street. “ MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON, you my verses; they were written for you,

but I was unwilling to present them, in the fear that you would not pass the threshold of the title. That you may not do now; but still

, as they are registered in my book as having been composed at your request, I think it right that you should see them. I have no better excuse for myself. If you will not read them, nobody else will.

Ever yours, sincerely,

“ F. MILLS.”


A cause pleaded in Italy. “ I saw a violet droop its head,

'Tis strange, and yet it seem'd in grief, And there, from Nature's book, I read

A tale of sorrow in the leaf.
“ A tear as in the eye, would stand,

The cheek was of a livid hue ;
The form was bow'd by some rude hand,

And for its fragrance bruised too. “ There was a canker in that cell,

The secret source of many a woe, Of deep remorse those lips would tell,

Or-never had they quiver'd so. “ She lov'd, 'twas in the soil, or clime,

In every flower, in every fieldHer earliest lesson, only crime;

And one so soft, was form’d to yield.

“ But near her, late transplanted there,

A rose was glittering in the light; It grew not in its native air,

And yet it seem'd to bloom as bright. “ And tho' it played with every wind,

As willing as the blushing morn, Who thought to gather it would find

'Twas always guarded by a thorn.

'Twas Anglia's boast, and well I trow,

A badge for which her sons had bled, Had many a life's spring caused to flow,

And widow'd many a bridal bed.

" And tho' its bloom may pass away,

Or fade beneath the coming hour, "Twill still be fragrant in decay,

Not rankle, like that bruised flower.

A note, most idolatrously complimentary, written by some modern Pagan gentleman, whom the gods had made poetical and hyperbolical in his amatory heathenism, addressed to Lady Blessington, without name or date, accompanying lines on leaving Naples,” and said to be “translated into French.”

“Si ce n'etait pas un culte uniquement reservé a Dieu que nous adorons, de bruler de l'encens sur ses autels ; l'univers s'empresserait de t'offrir ces honneurs. Alors nuit et jour j'entretiendrais ce feu de mes mains, et un nuage épais de parfum s'eleverait jusqu'aux cieux. Mais puisque cela m'est interdit, que je puisse, au moins t'offrir cet ençens sacré, que je brulerais pour toi, si j'etais payen.


“ Adieu terre classique, adieu ciel sans nuages,

Adieu dignes amis, vous dont le souvenir
Vient s'unir dans mon cæur aux charmes de ses rivages,
Je songe avec douleur ! hélas ! qu'il faut partir
Doux amis ! doux climat que j'aime et que j'admire
Quel enivrant tableau vous formez réunis
L'un et l'autre à l'envi semblez me sourire ;
Mais le sort me l'ordonne..il le faut..je vous fuis
La Syrene, disais-je, un moment abregée
Vit Naples et mourut, et j'envirais son sort
Mais plaignons la plutot, jamais après sa mort.
A-t-elle peut trouver un plus doux Elisée ?
Vous enchantez encore les sens du voyageur,
Parthenopé en ce jour a plus d'une Syréne,
Que de fois les accens de Lisette et d'Iréne,
Ont charmé mes instants, ont enivré mon cæur
Adieu tendres amis ! dans ma froide patrie
L'image du bonheur qu'en ces tems j'ai gouté
Viendra toujours s'offrir à mon ame attendrie
Avec le pur éclat de ce ciel enchanté.”

Lines, by James Smith, in a letter addressed to Lady Blessington, dated Nov. 10, 1836.


“ Mild Wilberforce, by all beloved,

Once own'd this hallow'd spot,
Whose zealous eloquence improved
The fetter'd Negro's lot;
Yet here still slavery attacks
When Blessington invites ;
The chains from which he freed the Blacks,
She rivets on the Whites.

“ 27, Craven Street, Tuesday."

Note accompanying lines to Lady Blessington, by James Smith:

27, Craven Street, Friday, Dec. 9, 1836. “ Dear Lady BLESSINGTON, " Gore House' has awakened another (anonymous) muse; I wonder who it can be ? “ Your Ladyship’s faithful and devoted servant,

JAMES Smith." A more deliberate reply to the Impromptu : “ No, not the chains which erst he broke,

Does Blessington impose ;
Light is her burden, soft her yoke,

No pain her captive knows.
“ The slave by galling fetters bruised,

By force his will subdued ;
Obedience of the mind refused,

With hate his tyrant viewed.
“ On willing hearts her bonds are thrown,

Her charms her empire prove;
Pleased with their fate, the captives own

No power but that of love."

Lines to the Countess of Blessington, by James Smith :

July 11, 1832. “ The Bird of Paradise, that flies

O'er blest Arabia's plains,
Devoid of feet, forbears to rise,

And where she rests, remains.
“ Like her of footing reft, I fain

Would seek your blest dominions,
And there content, till death, remain,

But ah! I lack the pinions.”

Admiralty, May 6, 1820. “ DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON, “ I have received from Lord Blessington your commands for the third time. I beg pardon for having been so tardy; but the enclosed will shew that I have, at last, implicitly and literally obeyed you. “ I have the honour to be, dear Lady Blessington,

Your very faithful servant, J. W. CROKER.” “ You've asked me three times,

For four lines with two rhymes ;
Too long I've delayed ;
But at last you're obeyed !”

Letter of T. Stewart, Esq., enclosing lines written in Naples, addressed to Lady Blessington :

“ Palais Belvedere, Naples, Monday. “ MY DEAR MADAM,

Although these lines can only prove the good wishes and intentions of their author, I hope you will not be displeased at receiving them.

“My uncle* refused your kind invitation with great regret yesterday, but he is so lame at present, that he can scarcely walk. He is likewise, in some degree, alarmed about himself. “With my best wishes to Miss Power, and to D'Orsay, “I remain, your Ladyship's most sincerely,

T. STEWART." * Sir William Drummond.

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