[1] from an exquisite lithograph by J. Goldicutt.

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF CARL MARIA VON WEBER.

  Weep, for the word is spoken—­
    Mourn, for the knell hath knoll’d—­
  The master chord is broken,
    And the master’s hand is cold! 
  Romance hath lost her minstrel,
    No more his magic strain
  Shall throw a sweeter spell around,
    The legends of Almaine.

  His fame had flown before him
    To many a foreign land,
  His lays are sung by every tongue,
    And harp’d by every hand! 
  He came to cull fresh laurels,
    But fate was in their breath,
  And turn’d his march of triumph
    Into a dirge of death.

  O! all who knew him lov’d him,
    For with his mighty mind,
  He bore himself so meekly,
    His heart it was so kind! 
  His wildly warbling melodies,
    The storms that round them roll,
  Are types of the simplicity
    And grandeur of his soul.

  Though years of ceaseless suffering
    Had worn him to a shade,
  So patient was his spirit,
    No wayward plaint he made. 
  E’en death itself seem’d loath to scare
    His victim pure and mild;
  And stole upon him quietly
    As slumber o’er a child.

  Weep, for the word is spoken—­
    Mourn, for the knell hath knoll’d—­
  The master chord is broken,
    And the master’s hand is cold! 
  The master chord is broken,
    And the master’s hand is cold!

PLANCHE.

* * * * *

YOUNG NAPOLEON.

(For the Mirror.)

It is impossible at this time of day, to foretell how the future destinies of Europe may be influenced by the subject of these lines.  To use the words of the talented author of the Improvisatrice, “Poetry needs no preface.”  However in this instance, a few remarks may not be uninteresting.  Until I met with the following stanzas, I was not aware that Napoleon had been a votary of the muses.  He has certainly climbed the Parnassian mount with considerable success, whether we take the interest of the subject, or the correctness of the versification into consideration.  Memorials like these of such a man, are, in the highest degree, interesting; they serve to display the man, divested of the “pomp and circumstance” of royalty.  That Napoleon had many faults cannot be disputed, but it is equally clear that he possessed many virtues the world never gave him credit for:—­"Posterity will do me justice."