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Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth,
Where his warrior-foe was sleeping;
And he laid him there in honour and rest,
With his sword in his own brave keeping!

XLV. THE SPRING JOURNEY.-Bishop Heber.

O GREEN was the corn as I rode on my way,
And bright were the dews on the blossoms of May,
And dark was the sycamore's shade to behold,
And the oak's tender leaf was of emerald and gold.
The thrush from his holly, the lark from his cloud,
Their chorus of rapture sang jovial and loud:
From the soft vernal sky to the soft grassy ground,
There was beauty above me, beneath, and around.

The mild southern breeze brought a shower from the hill,
And yet, though it left me all dripping and chill,

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,
And our tears add a charm to the prospect of Heaven!

XLVI.-TIME.-Sir Walter Scott.

WHY sitt'st thou by that ruined hall,
Thou aged carle, so stern and gray?
Dost thou its former pride recal,

Or ponder how it passed away?

"Know'st thou not me?" the Deep Voice cried,
"So long enjoyed, so oft misused-
Alternate, in thy fickle pride,

Desired, neglected, and accused?
Before my breath, like blazing flax,
Man and his marvels pass away;
And changing empires wane and wax-
Are founded, flourish, and decay.
Redeem thine hours--the space is brief-
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver;

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,
And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire:
"I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train;
I pledge my faith:-my liege, my lord, oh! break my father's chain!"

"Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day;
Mount thy good steed, and thou and I will meet him on his way."
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed;
And urged, as if with lance in hand, his charger's foaming speed.
And lo! from far, as on they pressed, they saw a glittering band,
With one that 'mid them stately rode, like a leader in the land:
Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he,
The father, whom thy grateful heart hath yearned so long to see."
His proud breast heaved, his dark eye flashed, his cheeks' hue came
and went;

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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;
--What was there in its touch, that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold! a frozen thing!--it dropped from his like lead:
He looked up to the face above--the face was of the dead!

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.

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Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men :—
He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his high renown;
Then flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down;

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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!

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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,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars
Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars;
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet-horn,
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,

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!--
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow men! our COUNTRY yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high!
And swear, for her to live!-with her to die!"

He said: and, on the rampart-heights, arrayed
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm!
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly--
REVENGE, OF DEATH! the watchword and reply :-
Then pealed the notes omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!

In vain-alas! in vain, ye gallant few,
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew :—
Oh! bloodiest picture in the book of time,
Sarmatia fell--unwept--without a crime!
Found not a generous friend-a pitying foe-
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!

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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!—
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!

Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,

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,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;
But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While Memory stood sideways, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but concealed every thorn.

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

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"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!
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck-
The masts fly in splinters-the shrouds are on fire!
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell-
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

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;
Unblessed and unhonoured, down deep in the main
Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to Remembrance for thee,
But still the vast waters above thee shall roll,

And the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be--
Oh, Sailor Boy! Sailor Boy! peace to thy soul !

L-SCENE BEFORE THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.—Byron.

THE night is past, and shines the sun
As if that morn were a jocund one.
Lightly and brightly breaks away
The Morning from her mantle gray,

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,
And the clash, and the shout "They come, they come!"
The horse-tails are plucked from the ground, and the sword
From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane;
White is the foam of their champ on the bit :-
The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
And crush the wall they have crumbled before:--
Forms in his phalanx each Janizar,

Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,
So is the blade of his scimitar;

The Khan and the Pachas are all at their post;
The Vizier himself at the head of the host.
"When the culverin's signal is fired, then on!
Leave not in Corinth a living one-

A priest at her altars-a chief in her halls-
A hearth in her mansions-a stone on her walls.
Heaven and the Prophet-Alla Hu!

Up to the skies with that wild halloo !"
As the wolves that headlong go

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:
Such was the fall of the foremost slain.

As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,

From the cliffs, invading dash

Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,
Till white and thundering down they go-
Like the avalanche's snow

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,
Heaped by the host of the Infidel,

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