THE FIRST DAY OF DEATH.

HE who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness,

The last of danger and distress,
(Before Decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,)
And mark'd the mild angelic air,

The rapture of repose that's there,

The fix'd yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,
And-but for that sad shrouded eye,

That fires not, wins not, weeps not now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow,
Where cold Obstruction's apathy
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,*
As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon :-
Yes, but for these, and these alone,
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power:
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,
The first, last look by death reveal'd!

* Whose touch thrills with mortality,

And curdles to the gazer's heart,

The Giaour.

is one reading.

SUNSET IN HELLAS.

SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun :

Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light,

O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
On old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle,

The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast, the mountain shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis!
Their azure arches through the long expanse
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.

But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain
The queen of night asserts her silent reign.
No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play,
There the white column greets her grateful ray,
And, bright around with quivering beams beset,
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret :
The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide
Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,

And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,

All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye-
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by.

Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;
Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long array of sapphire and of gold,
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle,

That frown-where gentler ocean seems to smile.

The Corsair.

THE BATTLE-FIELD.

WHAT boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,
The feast of vultures, and the waste of life?
The varying fortune of each separate field,
The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?
The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall?
In this the struggle was the same with all;
Save that distemper'd passions lent their force
In bitterness that banish'd all remorse.
None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain,
The captive died upon the battle-slain :
In either cause, one rage alone possess'd
The empire of the alternate victor's breast;
And they that smote for freedom or for sway,

Deem'd few were slain, while more remain'd to slay.
It was too late to check the wasting brand,

And Desolation reap'd the famish'd land;

The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread,
And Carnage smiled upon her daily bread.

сс

Lara.

TWILIGHT.

Ir is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows

Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;
And gentle winds, and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue,

And in the heaven that clear obscure,
So softly dark, and darkly pure,

Which follows the decline of day,

As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

Parisina.

THE TRUE SOLITUDE.

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,

Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude; 't is but to hold

Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,

And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.

THE COLISEUM-PAST AND PRESENT.

HERE the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, As man was slaughter'd by his fellow-man.* And wherefore slaughter'd? wherefore, but because

This veritable Temple of Moloch, in which almost every species of living being, from man downwards-the most innocent equally with the most ferocious-was congregated in one indiscriminate mass by the Roman Emperors and Magistrates to amuse themselves and the starving and savage populace, must have often, literally, 'flowed with rivers of blood,' or would have done so but for the carefully prepared arena of porous soil. At the celebration of the Triumphs of Trajan more than 10,000 gladiators were doomed to mutual slaughter. On another occasion (in the reign of Carinus, A.D. 284) we are credibly informed that 1,000 ostriches, 1,000 stags, 1,000 fallow deer, besides numerous wild sheep and goats, were mingled together for indiscriminate slaughter by the wild beasts of the forest or the equally wild beasts of the city. Elephants, zebras, and giraffes were transported to Rome from the remotest parts of the known world for the same purpose. If the imperial city could boast of the superior scale on which these scenes were enacted, there was scarcely any city of importance within the wide limits of the Empire that had not its provincial Coliseum and Circenses.' The most famous scene of these fashionable butcheries-the Flavian amphitheatre or Coliseum-was' a building of an elliptic figure, 564 feet in length and 467 in breadth, founded on four score arches, and rising, with four successive orders of architecture, to the height of 140 feet. The outside of the edifice was encrusted with marble and decorated with statues. The slopes of the vast concave, which formed the inside, were