And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods;

'And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses

His baby at her breast; And for the holy maidens

Who feed the eternal flame,

To save them from false Sextus,
That wrought the deed of shame?
'Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon straight path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now, who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?'

Then out spake Spurius Lartius;
A Ramnian proud was he:
'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee.'
And out spake strong Herminius;
Of Titian blood was he:

'I will abide on thy left side,

And keep the bridge with thee.'

'Horatius,' quoth the Consul,

'As thou say'st, so let it be.' And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless three. For Romans in Rome's quarrel Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old.

Then none was for a party;

Then all were for the state;

Then the great men helped the poor,

And the poor man loved the great;

It seemed to answer to my thought,
It called the past to mind,

And with its welcome presence brought
All I had left behind.

Thou lovely polar star, mine eyes,
Still turned the first on thee,
Till I have felt a sad surprise,
That none looked up with me.
But thou hast sunk upon the wave,
Thy radiant place unknown;
I seem to stand beside a grave,
And stand by it alone.

Farewell! ah, would to me were given
A power upon thy light!

What words upon our English heaven
Thy loving rays should write!

Kind messages of love and hope
Upon thy rays should be ;
Thy shining orbit should have scope
Scarcely enough for me.

Oh, fancy vain, as it is fond,

And little needed too :

My friends! I need not look beyond
My heart to look for you.

Thomas Aird.

(Born 1802. Died 1876.

BORN at Bowden, in Roxburghshire, 28th August 1802. He received a unirersity education. In 1835 he was appointed editor of the "Dumfries Herald," which was for years under his able management. His works evince a considerable amount of poetical talent.

THE SWALLOW.

THE Swallow, bonny birdie, comes sharp twittering o'er the sea,

And gladly is her carol heard for the sunny days to be;

She shares not with us wintry glooms, but yet, no faithless

thing,

She hunts the summer o'er the earth with wearied little wing

The lambs like snow all nibbling go upon the ferny hills; Light winds are in the leafy woods, and birds, and bubbling rills,

Then welcome, little swallow, by our morning lattice heard, Because thou com'st when Nature bids bright days be thy reward!

Thine be sweet mornings with the bee that's out for honeydew;

And glowing be the noontide for the grasshopper and you; And mellow shine, o'er day's decline, the sun to light thee

home:

What can molest thy airy nest? sleep till the day-spring come!

The river blue that rushes through the valley hears thee sing, And murmurs much beneath the touch of thy light-dipping wing.

The thunder-cloud, over us bowed, in deeper gloom is seen, When quick relieved it glances to thy bosom's silvery sheen.

The silent power that brought thee back with leading-strings of love

To haunts where first the summer sun fell on thee from above, Shall bind thee more to come aye to the music of our leaves, For here thy young, where thou hast sprung, shall glad thee in our eaves.

Thomas Ribble Harvey.

Born 1804.

Died 1859.

BORN in Manchester, in 1804. He has spent a busy life in literary employment. He published the first volume of his poems in 1824; they are characterised by great beauty and vigour of expression.

THE CONVICT SHIP.

MORN on the waters! and, purple and bright,
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light;
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on;
Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,

And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale;
The winds come around her, in murmur and song,

And the surges rejoice as they bear her along:

See! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds,
And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds:
Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray,
Over the waters-away, and away!
Bright as the visions of youth ere they part,
Passing away, like a dream of the heart!
Who-as the beautiful pageant sweeps by,
Music around her, and sunshine on high-
Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow,
Oh! there be hearts that are breaking below!
Night on the waves !--and the moon is on high,
Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky,
Treading its depths in the power of her might,
And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light!
Look to the waters!—asleep on their breast,
Seems not the ship like an island of rest?
Bright and alone on the shadowy main,

Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate plain!
Who-as she smiles in the silvery light,
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night,
Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky,
A phantom of beauty-could deem with a sigh,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,
And that souls that are smitten lie bursting within ?
Who, as he watches her silently gliding,

Remembers that wave after wave is dividing,
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
Hearts which are parted and broken for ever!
Or deems that he watches, afloat on the waves,
The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's grave!

"Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea, amidst sunshine and song!
Gaily we glide, in the gaze of the world,

With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurled;
Ali gladness and glory, to wandering eyes,

Yet chartered by sorrow, and freighted with sighs:
Fading and false is the aspect it wears,

As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears:

And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know
Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below,
Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore

Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o'er.