She saw no purples shine,

For tears had dimmed her eyes;
She only knew her childhood's flowers
Were happier pageantries!

And while her heralds played their part
Those million shouts to drown-

"God save the Queen" from hill to mart-
She heard through all her beating heart,
And turned and wept,—
She wept, to wear a crown!

God save thee, weeping Queen!
Thou shalt be well beloved!
The tyrant's sceptre cannot move,
As those pure tears have moved!
The nature in thine eyes we see,
That tyrants cannot own-
The love that guardeth liberties!
Strange blessing on the nation lies,
Whose sovereign wept-
Yea! wept, to wear its crown!

God bless thee, weeping Queen,
With blessing more divine!
And fill with happier love than earth's,
That tender heart of thine!

That when the thrones of earth shall be
As low as graves brought down;
A pierced hand may give to thee
The crown which angels shout to see!
Thou wilt not weep,

To wear that heavenly crown!

Miss Barrett.

WAR.

"TWAS Man himself

Brought Death into the world; and Man himself
Gave keenness to his darts, quickened his pace,
And multiplied destruction on mankind.

First Envy,' eldest born of Hell, imbrued
Her hands in blood, and taught the sons of men
To make a death which Nature never made,

1 First envy, &c.-In allusion to the murder of Abel.

And God abhorred: with violence rude to break
The thread of life ere half its length was run,
And rob a wretched brother of his being.
With joy Ambition saw, and soon improved
The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough
By subtle fraud to snatch a single life:
Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell

To sate the lust of power; more horrid still,
The foulest stain and scandal of our nature,
Became its boast. One murder1 made a villain,
Millions a hero. Princes were privileged
To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime.
Ah! why will kings forget that they are men
And men that they are brethren? Why delight
In human sacrifice? Why burst the ties
Of Nature, that should knit their souls together
In one soft bond of amity and love?

Yet still they breathe destruction, still go on
Inhumanly ingenious to find out

New pains for life, new terrors for the grave.
Artificers of Death! Still monarchs dream
Of universal empire growing up

From universal ruin.

Blast the design,

Great God of Hosts, nor let thy creatures fall
Unpitied victims at Ambition's shrine!

Yet say, should tyrants learn at last to feel,

And the loud din of battle cease to bray;

?

Should dove-eyed Peace o'er all the earth extend

Her olive branch, and give the world repose,

Would Death be foiled? Would health, and strength, and youth,

Defy his power? Has he no arts in store,

No other shafts, save those of War? Alas!

Ev'n in the smile of Peace-that smile which sheds

A heavenly sunshine o'er the soul-there basks
The serpent Luxury. War its thousands slays;
Peace its ten thousands. In the embattled plain
Though Death exults, and claps his raven wings,
Yet reigns he not ev'n there so absolute,

1 One murder, &c.-This line and the two following are remarkable for compactness and force of expression. The antithesis between "one murder" and "millions," "villain" and "hero," is very striking. The words "privileged" and "sanctified" are happily sarcastic, and remind us of Cowper.

So merciless, as in yon frantic scenes

Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth,

Where in the intoxicating draught concealed,

He snares the simple youth, who nought suspecting,
Means to be blest-but finds himself undone!

Porteus.

GINEVRA.1

Ir thou shouldst ever come to Modena
Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate
Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.2
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And numerous fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain thee; but before thou go,
Enter the house-prythee, forget it not-
And look awhile upon a picture there.

'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth ;-
She sits inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half-open, and her finger up,

As though she said 'Beware'-her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot-
An emerald stone in every golden clasp ;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart-
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!-Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heir-loom,3 its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm.

She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride, of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Ginevra was his all in life,

Still as she grew, for ever in his sight.

The affecting incident narrated in these lines is understood to have been

a real occurrence.

2 Orsini-A noble Italian family.

3

Heir-loom-a loom or piece of furniture, (still the meaning of the word in Cheshire,) for the heir-any moveable article that by law descends to the heir along with the freehold.

She was all gentleness, all gaiety,

Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
And in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

Great was the joy, but at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the bride was wanting there-
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
"'Tis but to make a trial of our love!"-

And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
"Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But that she was not! Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

Orsini lived; and long might'st thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find-he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
When on an idle day, a day of search
Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said
By one as young, as thoughtless, as Ginevra,

Why not remove it from its lurking place?" "Twas done as soon as said; but on the way

It burst-it fell; and lo! a skeleton;

And here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished-save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both-
"GINEVRA."-There then had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever!

Rogers.

THE MARTYRS.

PATRIOTS have toiled, and in their country's cause
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse,
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times; and sculpture, in her turn,
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
To guard them, and to immortalize her trust:
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid,
To those, who, posted at the shrine of truth,
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood,
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed,
And for a time ensure, to his loved land
The sweets of liberty and equal laws;
But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize,
And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed
In confirmation of the noblest claim-
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth,
To walk with God, to be divinely free,
To soar, and to anticipate1 the skies.

Yet few remember them. They lived unknown
Till persecution dragged them into fame,

And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew-
No marble tells us whither. With their names

No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:

3

And history, so warm on meaner themes,
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed
The tyranny, that doomed them to the fire,
But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.

Cowper.

1 Anticipate, hope, expect-We anticipate (or receive beforehand) either evil or good, we hope only for good, we expect (or look out for) the coming event, whatever may be its complexion. To "anticipate the skies," therefore, is to enjoy the happiness of heaven while upon earth.

2 Dragged-a well chosen word. They were undesirous of public notice, but persecution dragged them into fame.

3 History, &c.-In allusion to the cool tone in which Hume in his History of England speaks of the noble men, whose faith was sealed with their blood.