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And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young heuis, and choking sighis
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess
If ever more should urti those mutual eves,
Since upon nights 20 sireet such awful ciorn could rise ?
And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Wont pouring forward with impetuous specd,
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 “ Cameron's gathering rose !"
The war-note of Lechiel, which Albyn's hilis
Have heard, and heard, too, hnve her Saron foes :-
Ilow in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savare and shrill! but with the breath whicta filis
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 ringe in each clans-man's ear!
And Ardennes wares above them her green leares,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grievis,
Over the unreturning brave,-alas!
Ere erening to be trod.len like the grass
Which now beneuih them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the fue
11.d burning with high bope, shall moulder cold and low.
Laat noon beheld them full of lasty life,
Last eie in beauty s circle proudly pay,
The midnight broht the signal-sounit of strife,
The nioru the mustahil in arms,-the day
Battle's magnificently stean array !
The thuider-clouds love oer it, which when rent
The earth is covered thich with other clay,
Which her own clar shall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and borse, --frier:d, foe, --in one red burial blent !
II'r.d!en in a Coultry, situate in a rery desert Tract, by Captain
T. A. Anderson, II. N. 19th Foul.
Wirus this Choultry's ample space,
The way.worn traveller's resting-place,
Whose massy culunns countless glow,
Reflected in the tank below,
Who-e enilesa porticos and hills,
Whose pillar d domes, and echoing walls,
Its p'oud magnificence attest,
The child of poverty may ret!-
Ilere weath gives no exclusive claiin,
lo deference to a noble naine;
To ail the race of man is free
As heaven's cerulean canopy.
Lung inay the pious fabric stand
And this boundless unsic of sand ;
Like sone blest island's friendly cove,
To those who on the ocean rove!
Tle veriest wretch, while shelterd here,
Shrinka froin no fellow.mortals anecr,
Whave broken spirit ill could bruok
purse-proud lan llord's si ornful look;
Bilt, s.fe from noon's destructive force,
May panse u, on his tonome course,
With fool and rese lis fracle renew,
His honen ard jowney to par-ile;
And, at the welcome close of light,
When fire flies take their evening flight,
And hurer round each fr.igran: flow'r ;
When burning hies hue lost their poi'r,
When with fresh hops, and thanhful heart,
Ile girls bi- lo'ns in act to part,
Warufio.n his soul bow miny a pray's
Will i less the renerous founder's care!
Whom fancy pictures to the eye,
A passing faint and wearily
Along this dress and barren scane,
Where buunt:de rays -mile fierce and heen,
And arid win's incessit swep
The billows of this sandy deep.
lo stunted palm, nor daite-u ve scen,
To yield a moueitary screen,
lo hut his largurd limbs to rest,
Tio' sure by toil and this opprest!
In such a scene of dread and woc,
Well might he make a solemn vow,
That if some Jercy-loving Pow'r
Should guard him in that evil hour,
Tu him a stately fane should rise,
A refuge from these writhful skics,
A nonument of gratitude
Amid this fiery sulitude!
Perhaps the prayer w as not in vain,
And hence this fabric decks the plain.
And it, as old traditiers say,
The spirit, paried from its clay,
Shall still with former feelings throng
Round scenes and objects loud so long,
llow must it gratify his shade,
To hear the homage hourly paid,
To hear the fainting traveller cry,
With throbbing breast, and tear-dimm'd ere,
" A thousand blessings on the hand
“ That first these sacred turrets plann'd,
“And plac'd this hind asylum hire,
“ The lone way-furing nian to cheer !"
England ! ny country! tho' thou art
Entwin'd around my very heart,
Canst thou the solenın truth deny,
A truth impress il on every eye,
That while one stranger houseles, lies
Beneath thine ever-varying shies,
Thou art in charity outdone
By Asia's rude, untutord son !
ADDRESS OF WINTER, TO TIMOUR.
Persiel from Sir Julin Malolni's History of Persia.
Kees bleu the sleety gale, the scene was drear,
One sheet of white the bills and plains appear,
Vilt blocks of ice obatruct the rapid floods,
and hills of snow conceal the sulle wouia,
or bird, 1 or beast, nor living thing was seen,
lor Hower, nor fruit, nor blade of ler bage green;
All Nature knew the appointed time of rest,
And shelicred, slept in carth's maternal breast.
Man's heart alone no change of season knows,
And proud ambition stoops not to repose !
The tyrant's troops, regardless of the blast,
Blachen with countless hordes the silvery wuste.
High on his Tartar steed the conqueror ro.le.
And led his myriads o'er the frozen flood;
When lo! amid a realm of subject snows,
In aul'ul pride, gigintic Winter rose.
His hand, with arrows filled, was lifted high,
A ghastly gleam was in his frozen eye ;
Line sme vast mountnin his stupendous form,
liis voice the howling of the Alpine storm.
It lacked the melody of living breath,
And chilled the spirit as the voice of Death.
“ Behold the mighty conqueror, who defies,
“ Not mun alone, but these inclement skies.
" Yet though thy dreadful warriors onward ride,
Vor fawn the elements, to sooth thy pride,
" Round thy warm limbs ny icy robe I cast,
“I give thee to the snow, the hail, the blast;
“Yon hill-the Spirit of the Storm is there,
“ And bills thee, tyrant, stop thy rash career.
“No longer shalt thou wrap the world in Hame;
" Art thou a spirit of vengeance? I the saine.
“Slaves to subdue, we use our power alike,
“ \\hen bineful stars in dire conjunction strihe.
“ How terril.le their force! but on! be bold !
" Mike earth's best region desolate and cold,
" Then in the impotence of fury pire,
" To find at length thy blasts less keen than mine.
"If thou canst glory in urnumbered inands,
“ Tiat Waste, destroy, o'erwhelm the firest lands,
"With heavenly aid my storois as widely sweep,
“ Tly lance is heen, my arrow strikes as deep!
“And on t'iy head, by ilim that governs all,
" Tha de v!lit venem of my writh sima!l full,
* Vot all thy fires, thye-ll, thin: hoe shall save
“ From the cold sleep, the tempest's iry grave."
F1.9" Tony's ca Il har's," a Pena by J. Jung mery.
I Lure Thre, ou nutise ISLE!
Dat as my in ther's earliest solo,
Suculas 71y father's soice to me
Is all I hear and all see;
I love Thee, --when I bear around
Thy looms, and wheels, and anvils scund,
Thine Engines hearing all their force,
Thy waters labouring on their course,
And Arts, and Industry, and Health,
Exulting in the joys of liealth.
I love Thee,when I trace thy tale
To the dim point where records fail;
Thy deeds of old renown inspire
My bosom with our fathers' fire ;
A pond inheritance I claim
In all their sufferings, all their fame :
Nor less delighted, when I stray
Down History's lengthening, widening way,
And hail thee in the present hour,
From the meridian arch of power,
Shedding the lustre of thy reign,
Lihe sunshine over land and main.
I love Thee-when I read the lay;
of British Birds in elder days,
Till, rapt on visionary wings,
High o'er thy cliffs my Spirit sings;
For I, amiilse thy living choir,
I too, can touch the sacred lyre.
I lose Thee, when I contemplate
The full-orbi grandeur of thy lale ;
Thy laws and hiberties, that rise
Man's notlest works beneath the skies,
To which the Pyramids are tame,
And Grecian Temples bow their fane:
These, thine immortal Sagres Wronigl.t
Out of the deepest mines of thoughe;
There, on the scaffold, in the field,
Thy Warriors won, thy Patriots seald;