To tell what changes thou hast seen,
Each grand monarque, and king and queen,
Of French extraction;

Might puzzle those who don't conceive
French history, so I believe
Comparing thee with ours will give
More satisfaction.

Westminister-Hall, whose oaken roof,
The papers say (but that's no proof),
Is nearly rotten;

Existed but in stones and trees

When thou wert waving in the breeze,
And blossoms (what a treat for bees!)
By scores hadst gotten.

Chaucer, so old a bard that time
Has antiquated every chime,

And from his tomb outworn each rhyme
Within the Abbey ;

And Gower, an older poet, whom

The Borough church enshrines, (his tomb,
Though once restored, has lost its bloom,
And got quite shabby,)

Lived in thy time-the first perchance
Was beating monkst when thou in France
By monks wert beaten,

Who shook beneath this very tree
Their reverend beards, with glutton glee,
As each downfalling luxury

Was caught and eaten.

Perchance, when Henry gain'd the fight
Of Agincourt, some Gaulish Knight,
(His bleeding steed in woeful plight,
With smoking haunches,)

* Rebuilt in 1399.

There is a tradition (though not authenticated) that Chaucer was fined for beating a friar in Fleet Street.

Laid down his helmet at thy root,
And, as he pluck'd the grateful fruit,
Suffer'd his poor exhausted brute
To crop thy branches.

Thou wert of portly size and look,

When first the Turks besieged and took
Constantinople;

And eagles in thy boughs might perch,
When, leaving Bullen in the lurch,
Another Henry changed his church,
And used the Pope ill.

What numerous namesakes hast thou seen
Lounging beneath thy shady green,
With monks as lazy ;

Louis Quatorze has press'd that ground,
With his six mistresses around-

A sample of the old and sound
Legitimacy.

And when despotic freaks and vices
Brought on th' inevitable crisis

Of revolution,

Thou heard'st the mobs' infuriate shriek,
Who came their victim Queen to seek,

On guiltless heads the wrath to wreak
Of retribution.

Oh! of what follies, vice and crime,
Hast thou, in thy eventful time,

Been made beholder!

What wars, what feuds-the thoughts appal! Each against each, and all with all,

Till races upon races fall

In earth to moulder.

Whilst thou, serene, unalter'd, calm,

(Such are the constant gifts and balm Bestow'd by Nature!)

Hast year by year renew'd thy flowers,
And perfumed the surrounding bowers,
And pour'd down grateful fruit by showers,
And proffer'd shade in summer hours
To man and creature.

Thou green and venerable tree!

Whate'er the future doom

By fortune giv❜n,

may be

Remember that a rhymester brought
From foreign shores thine umbrage sought,
Recall'd the blessings thou hadst wrought,
And, as he thank'd thee, raised his thought
To heav'n!

THE CEMETERY OF PÈRE LA CHAISE,

AT PARIS.

Quid sis, esse velis, nihilque malis ;
Summum nec metuas diem, nec optes.

I AM half disposed to admit the assertion of a lively authoress, that the French are a grave people, and absolutely determined upon contradicting the received opinion in England, that in the volatility of their character their sympathies, however easily excited, are generally evanescent; and that the claims of kindred or friendship, so far from awakening any permanent sensibility, are quickly superseded by the paramount dominion of frivolity and amusement. Let any man who is labouring under this mistaken impression pay a visit to the Cemetery of Père La Chaise; and if he do not hate France more than

falsehood, he will admit that in the precincts of this beautiful and affecting spot there is not only a more striking assemblage of tasteful decorations and appropriate monumental sculpture, but more pervading evidences of deep, lingering, heart-rending affection for the dead, than could be paralleled in England or any other country of Europe. The tombs elsewhere seem to be monuments of oblivion, not remembrance; they designate spots to be avoided, not visited, unless by the idle curiosity of strangers: here they seem built up with the heart as well as with the hands; they are hallowed by the frequent presence of sorrowing survivors, who, by various devices of ingenious and elegant offerings, still testify their grief and their respect for the departed, and keep up by these pious visitings a sort of holy communion between the living and the dead. Never, never shall I forget the solemn yet sweet and soothing emotions that thrilled my bosom at the first visit to Père La Chaise. Women were in attendance as we approached the gate, offering for sale elegant crowns, crosses, and wreaths of orange-blossoms, xereanthemum, amaranth, and other everlasting flowers, which the mourning relatives and friends are accustomed to suspend upon the monument, or throw down upon the grave, or entwine among the shrubs with which every enclosure is decorated. Congratulating myself that I had no such melancholy office to perform, I passed into this vast sanctuary of the dead, and found myself in a variegated and wide-spreading garden, consisting of hill and dale, redolent with flowers, and thickly

planted with luxuriant shrubs and trees, from the midst of which monumental stones, columns, obelisks, pyramids, and temples, shot up in such profusion, that I was undecided which path to explore first, and stood some time in silent contemplation of the whole scene, which occupies a space of from sixty to eighty acres. A lofty Gothic monument on the right first claimed my attention, and on approaching it I found that it contained the tomb in which are the ashes of Abelard and Eloisa, united at last in death, but even then denied that rest and repose to which they were strangers in their unhappy and passionate lives. Interred, after various removals, at Soissons, in the year 1820, they were transported in the year eight of the Republic from Chalons-sur-Saone to the Museum of French Monuments at Paris, and thence to the romantic spot which they at present occupy. We learn from the inscription, that with all his talents Abelard could not comprehend the doctrine of the Trinity, and on this account incurred the censure of contemporary hierarchs. Subsequently, however, he seems to have seen the wisdom of a more accommodating faith; and having evinced his orthodoxy by the irrefragable argument of causing three figures to be sculptured upon one stone, which is still visible, being let into the side of his tomb, he was restored to the confidence and protection of the church. I had seen at Paris the dilapidated house in which he is stated to have resided; and now to be standing above the very dust which once contributed to form the fine intellect and throbbing hearts of these