Away! away! my charger bear
Thy fire and courage high;
No dangers now must raise a fear,
How thick soe'er they lie.
Behind we've many a pang and sigh,
From loves and home adored;
In front we've death or victory,—
Beside us, our good sword.

Howe'er, my charger, fate decree,
To conquer or to fall,
Above our fortunes let us be,
And bravely dare them all.
Follow the path to liberty,

Though through the grave it lead
O'er conquests blood red summit high,
What reck we how it speed?

My horse, my horse, to victory!
Who heeds a vaunting foe?
Heaven is for us, it fires thy eye,
And nerves me for the blow.
On, on, my noble courser, on!

The storm roars through our land;
If thick as hail, and fierce as sun,
Charge through the foeman's band.

LESSON LXXX.

THE THIEF'S FAREWELL TO LONDON.

There is a great deal of well directed Satire in the following piece by BULWER, and it is to be regretted that the temptations and facilities for crime, which abound in the metropolis of Great Britain, are becoming too common in the U. States. May it not be long before governments will consider it as much their duty to prevent crime as to punish it.

66

Farewell, my beloved London, farewell! Where shall I ever find a city like you? Never, till now, did

You

I feel how inexpressibly dear you were to me. have been my father, and my brother, and my mistress, and my tailor, and my shoemaker, and my hatter, and my cook, and my wine merchant! You and I never misunderstood each other. I did not grumble when I saw what fine houses and good strong boxes you gave to other men. No! I rejoiced at their prosperity. I delighted to see a rich man-my only disappointment was in stumbling on a poor one. You gave riches to my neighbors; but, O generous London, you gave those neighbors to me! Magnificent streets, all christian virtues abide in you! Charity is as common as smoke! Where, in what corner of the habitable world shall I find human beings with so many superfluities? Where shall I so easily decoy from their benevolent credulity, those superfluities to myself? God only knows, my dear, dear, darling London, what I lose in you! O public charities! O public institutions! O banks that belie mathematical axioms, and make lots out of nothing! O show rooms, where Frenchmen are expected to drink prussic acid like water! O merciful spectators, who pursue the said Frenchmen to coalholes if they refuse to be poisoned! O ancient constitution, always to be questioned! O speculations! O companies! O usury laws, which guard against usurers, by making as many as possible! O churches, in which no one profits save the parson, and the old women that let pews of an evening! O superb theatres, too small for parks, too enormous for houses; which exclude comedy and comfort, and have a monopoly for performing nonsense gigantically! O houses of plaster, built in a day! O palaces four yards high, with a dome in the middle meant to be invisible ! O shops worth thousands, and O shop-keepers not worth a shilling! O system of credit, by which beggars are princes, and princes are beggars! O imprisonment for debt, which lets the horse be stolen, and

Lon

Ma

then locks up the bridle! O sharpers, bubbles, sena tors, beaux, taverns, clubs, houses private and public O London, in a word, receive my last adieu! may you flourish in peace and plenteousness! your knaves be witty, and your fools be rich! you alter only two things-your accursed tricks o transporting and hanging! These are your sole faults but for these, I should never desert you.-Adieu !”

Ma

LESSON LXXXI.

BAJADOS.

The following well drawn picture of a single scene of the thousand that distinguished the bloody campaigns of the Peninsula, as the war of the French for the conquest of Spain, under Napoleon, are called may contribute to set the horrid trade of war in its true light. Th boy who had shot a thousand birds was cured of his passion for suc sport by seeing a wounded linnet die in his hand. The author of the piece is ALBIN. Bivouac is a French word pronounced biv-oo-ak. "T was at Bajados one evening-one evening in May That we had turned to rest o elves, after a bloody day.

For the cannon had ceased roaring, and the battle cry was still;

And, though beneath a Spanish sky, the air was keen and chill.

That day there had been meeting-fierce meeting on the plain;

That day full many an eye had closed, to open no

again.

But now the mighty shock had passed, the trumpet had rung out,

And the British banner flapped above each fortified redoubt;

And we set ourselves that evening-that evening at the board,

And unto God we gave our thanks to our protecting

Lord:

And we called the muster over-one answered not our

call:

'Twas the youngest, and the bravest, and the noblest of us all!

He had gone forth at morning, with the bugle's first shrill sound

He had gone forth at morning, with a smile and with a bound,

As he took his sabre from the wall, and waved it in the air:

But at night his place was empty, and untenanted his

chair.

By torch-light, then, we sought him-we sought him on the plain,

God grant that we may never look on such a sight again!)

Mid the moaning, and the tortured, and the dying, and the dead,

Who were lying, heaped together, on their green and grassy bed.

And at last we stumb d o'er him, for the stars were waxing pale,

And our torches flared, and flickered in the breathing of the gale.

Ten paces from his comrades, he was lying all alone, Half shrouded in the colors, with his head upon a stone. There was little blood upon him, and yet his cheek was white,

And his hair was twined and matted by the moisture of the night:

He was breathing when we found him, but his breath was spent and weak,

And though he strove to thank us, he could neither sigh nor speak.

Ve lifted him, we carried him, it was a weary track, And we laid him down, all tenderly, within our bivouac.

He was dead long ere we laid him-ere we laid him on the ground;

But perhaps he had not suffered, for he died without a

sound.

Then we turned again in sadness—we turned unto the board,

And each man put off his mantle, and his helmet, and his sword:

And, with the dead before us, by the blaze of the red

pine,

We strove to pass the wine-cup, and to drain the ruby

wine.

But our revel was a sad one: so awhile in prayer we

kneeled,

And then slumbered till the morning called us forth unto the field;

Then we called our muster over, and one answered not our call;

'Twas the youngest, and the bravest, and the noblest of us all!

LESSON LXXXII.

THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE.

The following characteristic picture of the attachment of the Arab to his steed, was written by the HON. MRS. NORTON. The word mirage is pronounced me-rahze, the z as in azure. It is French, and is the name given to an optical deception by which objects on the water or in a damp atmosphere appear nearer or higher than they really are.

My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye;

Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed

I may not mount on thee again-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!