APPENDIX.

"This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish, extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memory

nourished in the womb of Pia Mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion; but the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it."

Nathaniel. LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

LINES,

READ BEFORE A SHAKESPEREAN SOCIETY, ASSEM

BLED TO COMMEMORATE THE NATIVITY OF THE

IMMORTAL BARD, APRIL 23, 1819.

Written by an absent Member.

HAVE I a heart that feels?-or, have the cares
That early turn to silver my brown hairs,
Choked up the founts, whence ardent feeling springs;
Clipt Fancy's wayward and excursive wings;
And scared away those studies, arts and joys,
That were-if not Youth's riches-yet its toys ?-
Have ties domestic friendship's law repealed,
And broke the bonds that young affection sealed?
Oh, no! the quickening pulse, the beating heart,
The
eye that brightens, and the tears that start,

While memory pictures by-gone scenes and hours,

Proclaim that feeling's

fancy's friendship's

powers

Still live; and now from needful slumber leap,
And rise refreshed, like giants after sleep!—

Yes there's a banquet I was wont to share,
Which, still to think upon, disarms my care:
Yes, there are Poets,-and ONE honoured name,
Above the rest that kindle my soul's flame:

And there are friends, whose very names to hear
Is rapture to my heart, and music to mine ear.

There is a day when all these charms combine,Good friends,-sweet volumes,-temperate cups of

wine,

When sentient souls their annual tribute

pay

To wit and worth departed; and whose ray
Of brightness is but hallowed by the tear,
That from the cradle drops upon the bier:

That day which gave IMMORTAL SHAKESPERE

birth,

And called him loved and honoured from the earth.*

O! could I be where these rude lines are read,
Before his altar with sweet blossoms spread,
My heart should burn its incense--and my knee
Be bent in innocent idolatry!

But absence cannot the free thought restrain;

Nor time, nor distance end my Shakespeare's reign.
I've loved him long; nay I have now forgot
The day or hour in which I loved him not.
While yet a child, perceptive though untaught,
His fairy-dreams my young attention caught;
And oft to my dear mother's breast I clung
More closely, as the well-reciting tongue

Of one who loved me would the tale disclose,

Of Hamlet's murdered Sire, or little Arthur's woes.

• William Shakespere, born April 23, 1564.-Died April 23, 1616.