I saw the palsied bridegroom too, in youth’s gay ensigns drest;
  A shroud were fitter garment far for him than bridal vest;
  I mark’d him when the ring was claim’d, ’twas hard to loose his hold,
  He held it with a miser’s clutch—­it was his darling gold. 
  His shrivell’d hand was wet with tears she pour’d, alas! in vain,
  And it trembled like an autumn leaf beneath the beating rain.

  I’ve seen her since that fatal morn—­her golden fetters rest
  As e’en the weight of incubus, upon her aching breast. 
  And when the victor, Death, shall come to deal the welcome blow,
  He will not find one rose to swell the wreath that decks his brow: 
  For oh! her cheek is blanch’d by grief which time may not assuage,—­
  Thus early Beauty sheds her bloom on the wintry breast of Age.

Our commendation of the “Keepsake” might be extended much further, were we to consult our inclination to do justice to its high character.  With so lavish an expenditure and such an array of talent as we have shown it to contain, to wonder at its success,

  Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.

We congratulate the proprietors on their prospects of remuneration, for the attractions of their publication are irresistible.  It is altogether a splendid enterprise, and we doubt not the reward will be more than proportionate to the expectation it has raised—­both in the proprietors and their patrons—­the public.

* * * * *

THE ANNIVERSARY,

EDITED BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Perhaps we are getting too panegyrical, for panegyric savours of the poppy; but we must not flinch from our duty.

Allan Cunningham—­there is poetry in the name, written or sung—­and high-wrought poetry too, in nearly every production to which that name is attached—­and among these “The Anniversary for 1829.”  All the departments of this work too, (as in the “Keepsake”) are unique.  Mr. Sharpe, the proprietor, is a man of refined taste, his Editor and his contributors are men of first-rate genius, the Painters and Engravers are of the first rank, and the volume is printed at Mr. Whittingham’s Chiswick-press.  Excellence must always be the result of such a combination of talent, and so it proves in the Anniversary.  As might have been expected from the talent of its editor, the volume is superior in its poetical attractions—­both in number and quality.

By way of variety, we begin with the poetry.  First is a stirring little ballad, the Warrior, by the editor; then, a humorous epistle from Robert Southey, Esq. to Allan Cunningham, in which the laureat deals forth his ire on the “misresemblances and villanous visages” which have been published as his portrait.[1] Next is a gem of another water, Edderline’s Dream, by Professor Wilson, the supposed editor of “Blackwood’s Magazine.”  This is throughout a very beautiful composition, but we must content ourselves with the following extract:—­