To far-off nameless lands!
Yet all the while we know not why,
Nor where those dismal regions lie,
Half hoping that a curse to so deep
And wild can only be in sleep,
And that some overpowering scream
Will break the fetters of the dream,
And let us back to waking life,
Filled though it be with care and strife;
Since there at least the wretch can know
The meanings on the face of woe,
Assured that no mock shower is shed
Of tears upon the real dead,
Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,
When bending o'er the death-like cheek
Of one who scarcely seems alive,
At every cold but breathing kiss.
He hears a saving angel speak--
'Thy love will yet revive!'

[1] An artist of celebrity is now engaged on a portrait of Mr.
Southey, _cum privilegio_, we suppose, Mr. Southey is not the only
public man, whose lineaments have been traduced by engravers.
Only look at some of the patriotic gentlemen who figure at public
meetings, and in _outline_ on cards, &c. But Houbraken is now
known to have been no more honest than his successors in portrait
engraving: although physiognomy and craniology ought to help the
moderns out in these matters.

Then comes A Farewell to the year, one of Mr. Lockhart's elegant