The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 20, No. 577, July 7, 1827. Various
me has charms; although in early days,
Ere care and grief had dulled the sense of joy,
No eye more raptured gazed upon the scene
Of woody dell, green slope, or heath-clad hill;
Nor ear with more delight drank in the strains
Warbled by cheerful birds from every grove,
Or thrilled by larks up-springing to the sky.
From the hill side—where oft in tender youth
I strayed, when hope, the sunshine of the mind,
Lent to each lovely scene, a double charm
And tinged all objects with its golden hues—
There gushed a spring, whose waters found their way
Into a basin of rude stone below.
A thorn, the largest of its kind, still green
And flourishing, though old, the well o'erhung;
Receiving friendly nurture at its roots
From what its branches shaded; and around
The love-lorn primrose and wild violet grew,
With the faint bubbling of that limpid fount.
Here oft the shepherd came at noon-tide heat
And sat him down upon the bank of turf
Beneath the thorn, to eat his humble meal
And drink the crystal from that cooling spring.
Here oft at evening, in that placid hour
When first the stars appear, would maidens come
To fill their pitchers at the Hawthorn Well,
Attended by their swains; and often here
Were heard the cheerful song and jocund laugh
Which told of heart-born gladness, and awoke
The slumbering echoes in the distant wood.
But now the place is changed. The pleasant path,
Which wound so gently up the mountain side
Is overgrown with bent and russet heath;
The thorn is withered to a moss-clad stump,
And the fox kennels where the turf-bank rose!
The primrose and wild violet now no more
Spread their soft fragrance round. The hollow stone
Is rent and broken; and the spring is dry!
But yesterday I passed the spot, in thought
Enwrapped—unlike the fancies which played round
My heart in life's sweet morning, bright and brief:
And as I stood and gazed upon the change,
Methought a voice low whispered in my ear:
"Thy destiny is linked with that low spring;
Its course is changed, and so for aye shall be
The tenor of thy life; and anxious cares,
And fruitless wishes, springing without hope,
Shall rankle round thy heart, like those foul weeds
Which now grow thick where flow'rets bloomed anew:—
Like to that spring, thy fount of joy is dry!"
LINES
Quivi qual foste gia, non qual sarète.
Con diletto mirando, in onta agli anni
Vostre belle sembianze ancor vedrete.
Scorn not, dear maid, this fond but faithful lay,
That pictures, on no perishable page,
Thy beauties, rescued from the spoils of age,
To live and blossom with thy poet's bay:
For when remorseless Time brings on decay,
When the loath'd mirror shall no more engage
Thy smiles, distorted into grief and rage,
Alas! to think that youth must pass away—
Then in these lines contented shall thou trace,
As in a lovelier glass, thy lasting charms,
Not as they shall be, but as now they grace,
Fresh in the bud of youth, these circling arms.
LAWS RELATING TO BACHELORS
At page 53 of the present volume, your Correspondent "E.J.H." in his remarks on "Laws relating to Bachelors," states at the conclusion thereof as follows:—
"In England, bachelors are not left to go forgotten to their solitary graves. There was a tax laid on them by the 7th William III., after the 25th year of their age, which was 12l. 10s. for a duke, and 1s. for a commoner. At present they are taxed by an extra duty upon their servants—for a male, 1l. 5s., for a female, 2s. 6d. above the usual duties leviable upon servants."
Your Correspondent certainly must be in error upon these points, as the additional duty to which bachelors in England are liable under the present Tax Acts, for a male Servant, is only 1l. (the usual duty leviable for such servant being 1l. 4 s.); and there is not, that I am aware of, any law in existence in England taxing any person in respect of female servants.
Alton, Hants.
THE NATURALIST
DEER OF NORTH-AMERICA, AND THE MODE OF HUNTING THEM
Deer are more abundant than at the first settlement of the country. They increase to a certain extent with the population. The reason of this appears to be, that they find protection in the neighbourhood of man from the beasts of prey that assail them in the wilderness, and from whose attacks their young particularly can with difficulty escape. They suffer most from the wolves, who hunt in packs like hounds, and who seldom give up the chase until a deer is taken. We have often sat, on a moonlight summer night, at the door of a log-cabin in one of our prairies, and heard the wolves in full chase of a deer, yelling very nearly in the same manner as a pack of hounds. Sometimes the cry would be heard at a great distance over the plain: then it would die away, and again be distinguished at a nearer point, and in another direction;—now the full cry would burst upon us from a neighbouring thicket, and we would almost hear the sobs of the exhausted deer;—and again it would be borne away, and lost in the distance. We have passed nearly whole nights in listening to such sounds; and once we saw a deer dash through the yard, and immediately past the door at which we sat, followed by his audacious pursuers, who were but a few yards in his rear.—Immense numbers of deer are killed every year by our hunters, who take them for their hams and skins alone, throwing away the rest of the carcass. Venison hams and hides are important articles of export; the former are purchased from the hunters at 25 cents a pair, the latter at 20 cents a pound. In our villages we purchase for our tables the saddle of venison, with the hams attached, for 37-1/2 cents, which would be something like one cent a pound.—There are several ways of hunting deer, all of which are equally simple. Most frequently the hunter proceeds to the woods on horseback, in the day-time, selecting particularly certain hours, which are thought to be most favourable. It is said, that, during the season when the pastures are green, this animal rises from his lair precisely at the rising of the moon, whether in the day or night; and I suppose the fact to be so, because such is the testimony of experienced hunters. If it be true, it is certainly a curious display of animal instinct. This hour is therefore always kept in view by the hunter, as he rides slowly through the forest, with his rifle on his
The Marchese Scipione Maffèi was a native of Verona, contemporary with Gio. Baptista Felice Zappi, Vincenzio di Filicaja, and other Italian poets, who associated themselves together in an academy, which they entitled Arcadia. The pastoral name conferred upon the Marquess was Orilto Barentatico.