Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear that sound the first amidst the festival, and caught its tone with death's prophetic ear; and when they smiled because he deemed it near, his heart more truly knew that peal too well which stretched his father on a bloody bier, and roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: he rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell! Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, and gathering tears and tremblings of distress, and cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago, blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; and there were sudden partings, such as press the life from out young hearts, and choking sighs which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess if ever more should meet those mutual eyes, since, upon night so sweet, such awful morn could rise! And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, the mustering squadron, and the clattering car, went pouring forward with impetuous speed, and swiftly forming in the ranks of war; and the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar; and near, the beat of the alarming drum roused up the soldier ere the morning star: while thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, or whispering with white lips, "The foe! they come! they come!" And wild and high the "Camerons' Gathering" rose, the war-note of Lochiel, which Albion's hills have heard-and heard, too, have her Saxon foes!-How, in the noon of night, that pibroch thrills! savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers with the fierce native daring which instils the stirring memory of a thousand years : and Evan's, Donald's fame, rings in each clansman's ears! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, dewy with Nature's tear-drops: as they pass, grieving-if aught inanimate e'er grieves -over the unreturning brave;-alas! ere evening to be trodden like the grass-which now beneath them,

but above shall grow in its next verdure; when this fiery mass of living valour, rolling on the foe, and burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life; last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay; the midnight brought the signal-sound of strife-the morn, the marshalling in arms,—the day, battle's magnificently stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it which, when rent, the earth is covered thick with other clay which her own clay shall cover-heaped and pent; rider and horse-friend, foe-in one red burial blent!

THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.—(Campbell.)

YE mariners of England! that guard our native seas; whose flag has braved, a thousand years, the battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again to match another foe! and sweep through the deep, while the stormy winds do blow; while the battle rages loud and long, and the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers shall start from every wave! for the deck it was their field of fame, and ocean was their grave: where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, your manly hearts shall glow, as ye sweep through the deep, while the stormy winds do blow, while the battle rages loud and long, and the stormy winds do blow. Britannia needs no bulwark, no towers along the steep; her march is o'er the mountain waves, her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak she quells the floods below, as they roar on the shore, when the stormy winds do blow; when the battle rages loud and long, and the stormy winds do blow. The meteorflag of England shall yet terrific burn; till Danger's troubled night depart, and the star of Peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors! our song and feast shall flow to the fame of your name, when the storm has ceased to blow; when the fiery fight is heard no more, and the storm has ceased to blow.

THE MARINER'S HYMN.-(Mrs. Southey.)
LAUNCH thy bark, mariner! Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder-bands !-good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily; tempests will come ;

Steer thy course steadily! Christian, steer home!
Look to the weather-bow, breakers are round thee!
Let fall the plummet now-shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the fore-sail there! hold the helm fast!
So-let the vessel ware! there swept the blast.
What of the night, watchman? what of the night?
"Cloudy-all quiet-no land yet-all's right."
Be wakeful, be vigilant !-danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth securest to thee.
How! gains the leak so fast? Clean out the hold-
Hoist up thy merchandise-heave out thy gold !
There-let the ingots go !-now the ship rights;
Hurrah! the harbour's near-lo, the red lights!
Slacken not sail yet at inlet or island:

Straight for the beacon steer—straight for the high land;
Crowd all thy canvas on, cut through the foam-
Christian! Cast anchor now-HEAVEN IS THY HOME!

LOVE. (Robert Pollok.)

It was an eve of Autumn's holiest mood;
The corn-fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver light,
Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand;
And all the winds slept soundly. Nature seemed,
In silent contemplation, to adore

Its Maker. Now and then, the aged leaf
Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground;
And, as it fell, bade man think on his end.
On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high,
With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly Thought,
Conversing with itself. Vesper looked forth,
And up the east, unclouded, rode the moon
With all her stars, gazing on earth intense,
As if she saw some wonder walking there.
Such was the night, so lovely, still, serene,
When, by a hermit-thorn that on the hill
Had seen a hundred flowery ages pass,
A damsel kneeled to offer up her prayer.
This ancient thorn had been the meeting-place
Of love, before his country's voice had called
The ardent youth to fields of honour, far
Beyond the wave: and hither now repaired
Nightly the maid, by God's all-seeing eye

Seen only, while she sought this boon alone-
Her lover's safety and his quick return.

A tear-drop wandered on her lovely face;
It was a tear of faith and holy fear,

Pure as the drops that hang at dawning-time
On yonder willows by the stream of life.
On her the moon looked stedfastly; the stars,
That circle nightly round the eternal Throne,
Glanced down well pleased; and Everlasting Love
Gave gracious audience to her prayer sincere.
Returned from long delay,
With glory crowned, of righteous actions won,
The sacred thorn, to memory dear, first sought
The youth, and found it at the happy hour.
Wrapped in devotion, pleading with her God,
She saw him not, heard not his foot approach.
All holy images seemed too impure

To emblem her he saw. A seraph kneeled,
Beseeching for his ward, before the Throne,

Seemed fittest, pleased him best. Sweet was the thought,

But sweeter still the kind remembrance came,

That she was flesh and blood, formed for himself,

The plighted partner of his future life.

And as they met, embraced, and sat embowered
In woody chambers of the starry night,

Spirits of love about them ministered,

And God, approving, blessed the holy joy!

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.-(Pope.)

VITAL spark of heavenly flame, quit, oh, quit this mortal frame!-trembling, hoping,-lingering, flying; oh, the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond nature! cease thy strife, and let me languish into life!—Hark, they whisper! Angels say, "Sister spirit, come away!"-What is this absorbs me quite, steals my senses, shuts my sight, drowns my spirit, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul-can this be death? The world recedes-it disappears!-heaven opens on my eyes! my ears with sounds seraphic ring! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly -O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?

THE RAVEN.-(Poe.)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
""Tis some visitor," I muttered, tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

66

Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow ;-vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;

66

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, 66 or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you "-here I opened wide the door;
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore !"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before.
'Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ;-

'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door-

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.