Of power to pierce his raven plume,
And crystal covered shield.

Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear
The Lapland drum delights to hear,
When Frenzy with her bloodshot eye
Implores thy dreadful deity.
Archangel! power of desolation!

Fast descending as thou art,
Say, hath mortal invocation
Spells to touch thy stony heart?
Then sullen Winter hear my prayer,
And gently rule the ruined year;
Nor chill the wand'rer's bosom bare,
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear ;-
To shuddering want's unmantled bed,
Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend,
And gently on the orphan head

Of innocence descend.

But chiefly spare, O king of clouds!

The sailor on his airy shrouds :

When wrecks and beacons strew the steep,

And spectres walk along the deep.

Milder yet thy snowy breezes

Pour on yonder tented shores,
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes,
Or the dark-brown Danube roars.

Oh winds of winter list ye there

To many a deep and dying groan;

Or start, ye demons of the midnight air,

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own.

Alas! ev'n your unhallowed breath

May spare the victim, fallen low;

But man will ask no truce to death,—

No bounds to human wo.*

*This ode was written in Germany, at the close of 1800, before the conclusion of hostilities.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

OUR bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lowered
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain;
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track;
'Twas autumn-and sunshine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

Stay, stay with us―rest, thou art weary and worn
And fain was their war-broken scldier to stay;
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

THE TURKISH LADY.

"Twas the hour when rites unholy Called each Paynim voice to prayer, And the star that faded slowly

Left to dews the freshened air.

Day her sultry fires had wasted,

Calm and sweet the moonlight rose; Ev'n a captive's spirit tasted

Half oblivion of his woes.

Then 'twas from an Emir's palace
Came an eastern lady bright;
She, in spite of tyrants jealous,
Saw and loved an English knight.

"Tell me, captive, why in anguish
Foes have dragged thee here to dwell,
Where poor Christians as they languish
Hear no sound of sabbath bell?"-

""Twas on Transylvania's Bannat
When the crescent shone afar,
Like a pale disastrous planet
O'er the purple tide of war-

"In that day of desolation,
Lady, I was captive made;
Bleeding for my Christian nation

By the walls of high Belgrade."

"Captive! could the brightest jewel From my turban set thee free?”— "Lady, no!-the gift were cruel, Ransomed, yet if reft of thee.

"Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee
Christian climes should we behold?"---
"Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee
Were thy ransom paid in gold!"

Now in heaven's blue expansion
Rose the midnight star to view,
When to quit her father's mansion,
Thrice she wept, and bade adieu !

"Fly we then, while none discover;
Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!"
Soon at Rhodes the British lover
Clasped his blooming Eastern bride.

EXILE OF ERIN.

THERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill :
For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind beaten hill.

But the daystar attracted his eye's sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.

Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger,
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee;
But I have no refuge from famine and danger,

[hours,

A home and a country remain not to me. Never again in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers,

And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!

Erin my country! though sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy seabeaten shore;
But alas! in a fair foreign land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! Oh cruel fate! will thou never replace me

In a mansion of peace-where no perils can chase me?
Never again, shall my brothers embrace me?
They died to defend me, or live to deplore!

Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood?
Sisters and sire! did ye weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that looked on my childhood?
And where is the bosom friend, dearer than all?
Oh! my sad heart! long abandoned by pleasure,
Why did it doat on a fast fading treasure!
Tears like the rain drop, may fall without measure;
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall.
Yet all its sad recollection suppressing,

One dying wish my lone bosom can draw,
Erin! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing!

Land of my forefathers! Erin go bragh!

Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
Green be thy fields-sweetest isle of the ocean!
And thy harp striking bards sing aloud with devotion-
Erin mavournin!-Erin go bragh!*

LINES,

Written at the request of the Highland Society in London, when met to commemorate the 21st of March, the day of victory in Egypt.

PLEDGE to the much loved land that gave us birth
Invincible romantic Scotia's shore !

*Ireland my darling-Ireland for ever.