won thy fame from the breath of wrong, my soul hath risen for thy glory strong! now call me hence by thy side to be; the world thou leav'st has no place for me. Give me my home on thy noble heart! well have we loved-let us both depart!" And pale on the breast of the dead she lay, the living cheek to the cheek of clay. The living cheek! oh, it was not in vain that strife of the spirit to rend its chain.-She is there, at rest, in her place of pride, in death, how queen-like ! -a glorious bride! From the long heart-withering early gone she hath lived-she hath loved her task is done!

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.-(Longfellow.)

Between the dark and the daylight, when the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, that is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me the patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is opened, and voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight, descending the broad hall-stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, and Edith with golden hair.
A whisper and then a silence: yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together to take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway, a sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded, they enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret, o'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me; they seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses, their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen in his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine !
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old moustache as I am, is not a match for you all?

I have you fast in my fortress, and will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon, in the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, yes, forever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, and moulder in dust away!

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.-(Hood.)

ONE more unfortunate, weary of breath, rashly importunate, gone to her death! Take her up tenderly lift her with care; fashioned so slenderly, young,

and so fair! Look at her garments clinging like cerements; whilst the wave constantly drips from her clothing; take her up instantly, loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; think of her mournfully, gently, and humanly; not of the stains of her:-all that remains of her now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny into her mutiny rash and undutiful: past all dishonour, Death has left on her only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, one of Eve's family,-wipe those poor lips of hers, oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses escaped from the comb, her fair auburn tresses; whilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home? who was her father? who was her mother? had she a sister? had she a brother? or was there a dearer one still, and a nearer one yet than all other? Alas! for the rarity of Christian charity under the sun! Oh, it was pitiful! near a whole city full, home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, fatherly, motherly feelings had changed: love, by harsh evidence, thrown from its eminence; even God's providence seeming estranged!

Where the lamps quiver so far in the river, with many a light from window and casement, from garret to basement, she stood with amazement, houseless by night. The bleak wind of March made her tremble and shiver; but not the dark arch or the black-flowing river: mad from life's history, glad to death's mystery swift to be hurled-any where, any where out of the world! In she plunged boldly, no matter how coldly the rough river ran :- over the brink of it, picture it, think of it, dissolute man! Lave in it, drink of it, then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly, lift her with care: fashioned so slenderly, young, and so fair! Ere her limbs. frigidly stiffen too rigidly, decently,-kindly,--smoothe and compose them: and her eyes-close them, staring

so blindly! Dreadfully staring, through muddy impurity, as when, with the daring last look of de-* spairing, fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, spurred by contumely, cold inhumanity, burning insanity, into her rest. Cross her hands humbly, as if praying dumbly, over her breast; owning her weakness, her evil behaviour-and leaving, with meekness, her sins to her Saviour!

:

PATRIOTISM.-(Scott.)

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned

From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand

Can e'er untie the filial band

That knits me to thy rugged strand!

Still as I view each well-known scene,

Think what is now, and what hath been,

Seems as to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;
And thus I love them better still,

Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's streams still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way;
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my withered cheek ;
Still lay my head by Teviot Stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The Bard may draw his parting groan.

THE FALL OF D'ASSAS.-(Mrs. Hemans.) ALONE, through gloomy forest shades, a soldier went by night, No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades, no star shed guiding light. Yet, on his vigil's midnight round, the youth all cheerly passed; Unchecked by aught of boding sound, that muttered in the blast. Where were his thoughts that lonely hour?-In his far home perchance— His father's hall-his mother's bower, 'midst the gay vines of France. Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? came not faint whispers near? No! The wild wind hath many a sigh, amidst the foliage sere.

Hark! yet again !—and from his hand, what grasp hath wrenched the blade?

Oh, single, 'midst a hostile band, young soldier, thou'rt betrayed!
"Silence!" in undertones they cry; "No whisper-not a breath!
The sound that warns thy comrades nigh shall sentence thee to death!".
Still at the bayonet's point he stood, and strong to meet the blow;
And shouted, 'midst his rushing blood, "Arm! Arm !-Auvergne !—
the foe !"

The stir-the tramp-the bugle call-he heard their tumults grow,
And sent his dying voice through all—“Auvergne ! Auvergne !—the foe!"

GERTRUDE VON DER WART.-(Mrs. Hemans.) Her hands were clasped, her dark eyes raised, the breeze threw back, her hair;

Up to the fearful wheel she gazed ;-all that she loved was there!
The night was round her clear and cold, the holy heaven above,
Its pale stars watching to behold the might of earthly love.
"And bid me not depart," she cried; "my Rudolph, say not so;
This is no time to quit thy side; peace-peace! I cannot go.
Hath the world aught for me to fear, when death is on thy brow?
The world-what means it ?-mine is here; I will not leave thee now!
"I have been with thee in thine hour of glory and of bliss;
Doubt not its memory's living power to strengthen me through this;
And thou, mine honoured Lord and true, bear on, bear nobly on!
We have the blessed heaven in view, whose rest shall soon be won!"
And were not these high words to flow from woman's breaking heart?
Through all that night of bitterest woe, she bore her lofty part;
But oh! with such a glazing eye, with such a curdling cheek,-
Love, Love! of mortal agony, thou, only thou, shouldst speak!
The wind rose high, but with it rose her voice that he might hear :
Perchance that dark hour brought repose to happy bosoms near;
While she sat pining with despair beside his tortured form,
And pouring her deep soul in prayer forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death-damps from his brow with her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low had stilled his heart so oft :
She spread her mantle o'er his breast, she bathed his lips with dew,
And on his cheek such kisses pressed as Hope and Joy ne'er knew.
Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith, enduring to the last!
She had her meed-one smile in death-and his worn spirit passed!
While, even as o'er a martyr's grave, she knelt on that sad spot,
And, weeping, blessed the God who gave strength to forsake it not!

LOCHINVAR. (Scott.)

O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west!
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ;
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone!

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar !

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Esk river where ford there was none-

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented !-the gallant came late!
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar !

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword-
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word:
"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war ?—
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?"
"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !"
The bride kissed the goblet the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh-
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye,
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—
"Now tread we a measure!
" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace!
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar !"