Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth, XLV. THE SPRING JOURNEY.-Bishop Heber. O GREEN was the corn as I rode on my way, The mild southern breeze brought a shower from the hill, I felt a new pleasure as onward I sped, To gaze where the rainbow gleamed broad over head. O such be Life's journey, and such be our skill, To lose in our blessings the sense of its ill; Through sunshine and shower may our progress be even, XLVI.-TIME.-Sir Walter Scott. WHY sitt'st thou by that ruined hall, Or ponder how it passed away? "Know'st thou not me?" the Deep Voice cried, Desired, neglected, and accused? For, measureless thy joy or grief, When Time and thou shall part for ever!" XLVII. THE SPANISH CHAMPION.-Mrs. Hemans. THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, "Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day; 66 He reached that grey-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent-his father's hand he took; That hand was cold! a frozen thing!--it dropped from his like lead: A plume waved o'er that noble brow-the brow was fixed and white! He met at length his father's eyes--but in them was no sight! Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed; but who can paint that gaze? They hushed their very hearts who saw its horror and amaze : They might have chained him, as before that noble form he stood; For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his cheek the blood. 66 Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men :— And, covering with his steel-gloved hand his darkly mournful brow, No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now; My king is false! my hope betrayed! my father-oh! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!" Up from the ground he sprang once more, and seized the monarch's rein, Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face--the king, before the dead! 66 Came I not here, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? Be still! and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me, what is this? The look, the voice, the heart I sought-give answer, where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, put life in this cold clay! "Into those glassy eyes put light be still, keep down thine ire; Bid those cold lips a blessing speak--this earth is not my sire! Give me back him for whom I fought, for whom my blood was shed! Thou canst not,—and a king? his dust be mountains on thy head!" He loosed the rein-his slack hand fell;-upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, mournful glance, and fled from that sad place: His after-fate no more was heard amid the martial train; His banner led the spears no more among the hills of Spain ! XLVIII. THE DOWNFAL OF POLAND.-Campbell. O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man! Warsaw's last champion, from her heights, surveyed, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid "O Heaven!" he cried, "my bleeding country save!-- He said: and, on the rampart-heights, arrayed In vain-alas! in vain, ye gallant few, Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spearClosed her bright eye, and curbed her high career!-Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked-as KOSCIUSKO fell! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there; Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air-On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below. The storm prevails! the rampart yields a way-Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay! Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! Earth shook!-red meteors flashed along the sky! And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry! Departed spirits of the MIGHTY DEAD!— Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, And make her arm puissant as your own! Oh! once again to Freedom's cause, return The PATRIOT TELL-the BRUCE of BANNOCKBURN! XLIX. THE MARINER'S DREAM.-Dimond. IN slumbers of midnight the Sailor-Boy lay, Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise;Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport, he raises the latchAnd the voices of loved ones reply to his call: A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; His cheek is bedewed with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the friends, whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Joy quickens his pulse, all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest 66 "O Fate! thou hast blessed me-I ask for no more." Ah! whence is that flame which now glares in his eye? Ah! what is that sound which now bursts on his ear? "Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting wrath on the sky! "Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere! He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck Amazement confronts him with images dire! And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave! Oh, Sailor Boy! woe to thy dream of delight! In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of blissWhere now is the picture that fancy touched bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss? Oh, Sailor Boy! Sailor Boy! never again Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; No tomb shall e'er plead to Remembrance for thee, And the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be-- L-SCENE BEFORE THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.—Byron. THE night is past, and shines the sun And the Noon will look on a sultry day. Hark to the trump and the drum, And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn, And the flap of the banners that flit as they're borne, And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum, Alp at their head; his right arm is bare, The Khan and the Pachas are all at their post; A priest at her altars-a chief in her halls- Up to the skies with that wild halloo !" On the stately buffalo, Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore, He tramples on earth, or tosses on high The foremost who rush on his strength but to die; Thus against the wall they went, Thus the first were backward bent: Even as they fell, in files they lay, Like the mower's grass at the close of day, When his work is done on the levelled plain: As the spring-tides, with heavy plash, From the cliffs, invading dash Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow, On the Alpine vales below Thus at length, out-breath'd and worn, Corinth's sons were downward borne By the long and oft-renewed Charge of the Moslem multitude. In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell, |