: The Mirror of Literature Amusement and Instruction. Volume 12 No. 326 August 9 1828 by Various - Popular literature Great Britain Periodicals The Mirror of Literature Amusement and Instruction

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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

REGENT BRIDGE, EDINBURGH.

Edinburgh, "the Queen of the North," abounds in splendid specimens of classical architecture. Since the year 1769, when the building of the New Town commenced, its improvement has been prosecuted with extraordinary zeal; consequently, the city has not only been extended on all sides, but has received the addition of some magnificent public edifices, while the access to it from every quarter has been greatly facilitated and embellished. Of the last-mentioned improvement our engraving is a mere vignette, but it deserves to rank among the most superb of those additions.

The engraving is an interesting picture of classic beauty; and as the "approaches" and proposed "dry arches" to the New London Bridge are now becoming matters of speculative interest, we hope this entrance to our metropolis will ultimately present a similar display of architectural elegance. LONDON, with all her opulence, ought not to yield in comparison with any city in the world; and it is high time that the march of taste be quickened in this quarter.

from an exquisite lithograph by J. Goldicutt.

ON THE DEATH OF CARL MARIA VON WEBER.

Weep, for the word is spoken-- Mourn, for the knell hath knoll'd-- The master chord is broken, And the master's hand is cold! Romance hath lost her minstrel, No more his magic strain Shall throw a sweeter spell around, The legends of Almaine.

His fame had flown before him To many a foreign land, His lays are sung by every tongue, And harp'd by every hand! He came to cull fresh laurels, But fate was in their breath, And turn'd his march of triumph Into a dirge of death.

O! all who knew him lov'd him, For with his mighty mind, He bore himself so meekly, His heart it was so kind! His wildly warbling melodies, The storms that round them roll, Are types of the simplicity And grandeur of his soul.

Though years of ceaseless suffering Had worn him to a shade, So patient was his spirit, No wayward plaint he made. E'en death itself seem'd loath to scare His victim pure and mild; And stole upon him quietly As slumber o'er a child.

Weep, for the word is spoken-- Mourn, for the knell hath knoll'd-- The master chord is broken, And the master's hand is cold! The master chord is broken, And the master's hand is cold!

PLANCHE.

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