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Again came a multitude thronging

Ashamed of the idol they made; And lo! the great king and his glory

Came down to the dust as they bade!
He fled, though with none to pursue him-

And left not a relic behind;
Neither son, nor successor, nor mourner;

Dried leaf, on the popular wind !
His throne made a bonfire for outcasts,

And blood-sprinkled beggars lay down,
And trail'd, through the filth of the gutter,

Ermine and crown.
They set up a king to succeed him,

King Liberty, monarch adored;
They told him to rule as it pleased him,

And gave him for sceptre a sword.
They throned him, and crown'd him with garlands,

And knelt at his feet in the mire; And call’d him the saviour of nations,

Their model, their friend, their desire.
King Liberty, drunken and frantic,

Let anarchy loose on his slaves,
And plunder'd and murder'd his people,

Dancing on graves.
And they call'd in their desperate anguish

For a potent and resolute will ;
For a man with a heart made of iron,

For a hand that was ready to kill;
For a master to curb and to conquer

This pestilent lord of the streets,
To chain him, and gag him, and scourge him,

Or ship him to tropical heats.
And, losing their senses in terror,

They cried from the depths of despair, “Oh! save us, thou man of the sabre!

Strike, do not spare."

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A LYRIC.

From a volume of poems, lately published by Mr. W. R. CASSELS.

LOVE took me softly by the hand,

Love led me all the country o'er,
And show'd me beauty in the land,

That I had never dreamt before

Never before, O Love, sweet Love!
There was a glory in the morn,

There was a calmness in the night,
A mildness by the south wind borne,

That I had never felt aright

Never aright, O Love, sweet Love!
But now it cannot pass away,
I see it wheresoe'er I

go,
And in my heart by night and day

Its gladness waveth to and fro-
By night and day, O Love, sweet Love!

A POETICAL SKETCH.

In the following beautiful sketch, Miss LANDON has almost shadowed her own dark destiny. So she left her native land, so she was deserted, so she perished.

It is a strange thing to compare the lives of poets with their writings, and trace the destiny of the one running through the other—a dark thread in the miugled yarn of existence.

I do love
These old remembrances—they are to me
The heart's best intercourse; I love to feel
The griefs, the happiness, the wayward fates
Of those that have been, for these memories
Hallow the spot whereon they linger, and

Waken our kindliest sympathies.
The shore was reef'd with rocks, whose rugged sides
Were venturous footing for the fowler's step :
They

were shaped out in wild and curious forms, Above all jagg’d and broken, but below

The waves had worn the shaggy points away ;
For there they rave incessantly. "When last
I pass'd along the beach, it was at eve,
A summer's eve, stormy, but beautiful ;
I could but look upon the western sky,
The rest was hidden from my view; but there
The day had spent its glory. One rich light
Broke through the shadow of the tempest's wings,
While the black clouds, with gold and purple edged,
Caught every moment warmer hues, until
'Twas all one sparkling arch, and, like a king
In triumph o'er his foes, the sun-god sought
The blue depths of the sea ;—the waters yet
Were ruffled with the storm, and the white foam
Yet floated on the billows, while the wind
Murmur'd at times like to an angry child,
Who sobs even in his slumber. Mid the rocks
That rose stern barriers to the rebel waves,
There was one spot less rugged than the rest :
Some firs had taken root there, and waved o'er
The entrance of a cave, where Grecian bards
Had said some sea-maid dwelt, and deck'd the place
With ocean treasures, for the walls were bright
With crystal spar : in sooth, it seem'd just form'd
For some fair daughter of the main ; at noon

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Here she might bind her hair with shells, and wake
Her golden harp. But now a legend's told
Of human love and sorrow-it is callid
The cavern of the pirate's love :-her fate
Is soon and sadly told: she follow'd one,
A lawless wanderer of the deep, for whom
She left her father's halls. A little while
She might know happiness—it is the heart
That gives the colour to our destiny:
But lovely things are fleeting-blushes, sighs,
The hours of youth, smiles, hopes, and minstrel dreams,
Spring days and blossoms, music's tones, are all
Most fugitive; and swifter still than these
Will love dissolve into forgetfulness.
She was deserted. For awhile this cave
Was her sad refuge; for awhile the rocks
Echo'd her wild complainings. I can deem
How she would gaze upon the sea, and think

Each passing cloud her lover's bark, till

, hope
Sicken'd with hope, she pass’d and left a tale,
A melancholy tale, just fit to tell
On such an eve as this, when sky and sea
Are sleeping in the mute and mournful calm
Of passion sunk to rest.

A RHAPSODY OF LIFE'S PROGRESS.

A passage froin a very fine poem having this title, by Mrs. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

We are borne into life—it is sweet, it is strange!
We lie still on the knee of a mild Mystery,

Which smiles with a change!
But we doubt not of changes, we know not of spaces ;
The Heavens seem as near as our own mother's face is,
And we think we could touch all the stars that we see;
And the milk of our mother is white on our mouth !
And, with small childish hands, we are turning around
The apple of Life which another has found :-
It is warm with our touch, not with sun of the south,
And we count, as we turn it, the red side for four-

Life, O Beyond,
Thou art sweet, thou art strange evermore.

Then all things look strange in the pure golden æther;
We walk through the gardens with hands linked together,

And the lilies look large as the trees ;
And as loud as the birds, sing the bloom-loving bees, -
And the birds sing like angels, so mystical fine;
And the cedars are brushing the archangel's feet;
And time is eternity, ---love is divine,

And the world is complete!
Now, God bless the child,-father, mother, respond.

O Life, O Beyond,
Thou art strange, thou art sweet.

Then we leap on the earth with the armour of youth,

And the earth rings again! And we breathe out “O beauty,”.

-we cry out, “ O truth,"
And the bloom of our lips drops with wine;
And our blood runs amazed 'neath the calm hyaline,
The earth cleaves to the foot, the sun burns to the brain,-
What is this exultation, and what this despair-
The strong pleasure is smiting the nerves into pain,
And we drop from the Fair, as we climb to the Fair,

And we lie in a trance at its feet;
And the breath of an angel cold-piercing the air

Breathes fresh on the faces in swoon;
And we think him so near, he is this side the sun !
And we wake to a whisper self-murmur'd and fond,

O Life, O Beyond,
Thou art strange, thou art sweet!

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And the winds and the waters in pastoral measures
Go winding around us, with roll upon roll,
Till the soul lies within in a circle of pleasures,

Which bideth the soul !
And we run with the stag, and we leap with the horse,
And we swim with the fish through the broad watercourse,
And we strike with the falcon, and hunt with the hound,
And the joy which is in us, flies out with a wound;
And we shout so aloud, “ We exult, we rejoice,”
That we lose the low moan of our brothers around, -
And we shout so adeep down creation's profound,

We are deaf to God's voice-
And we bind the rose-garland on forehead and ears,

Yet we are not ashamed ;
And the dew of the roses that runneth unblamed

Down our cheeks, is not taken for tears.
Help us God, trust us man, love us woman! " I hold
Thy small head in my hands,—with its grapelets of gold
Growing bright through my fingers,--like altar for oath,
'Neath the vast golden spaces like witnessing faces
That watch the eternity strong in the troth-

I love thee, I leave thee,-
Live for thee, die for thee!
I prove thee, deceive thee,-

Undo evermore thee!
Help me God, slay me man! one is mourning for both!”

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