Why is the Spanish maiden's grave
So far from her own bright land?
The sunny flowers that o'er it wave
Were sown by no kindred hand.

'Tis not the orange-bough that sends
Its breath on the sultry air,
'Tis not the myrtle-stem that bends
To the breeze of evening there!

But the Rose of Sharon's eastern bloom
By the silent dwelling fades,

And none but strangers pass the tomb
Which the Palm of Judah shades.

The lowly Cross, with flowers o'ergrown,
Marks well that place of rest;

But who hath graved, on its mossy stone,
A sword, a helm, a crest?

These are the trophies of a chief,
A lord of the axe and spear!

-Some blossom pluck'd, some faded leaf,
Should grace a maiden's bier!

Scorn not her tomb-deny not her
The honours of the brave!
O'er that forsaken sepulchre,

Banner and plume might wave.

She bound the steel, in battle tried,
Her fearless heart above,

And stood with brave men, side by side,

In the strength and faith of love!

That strength prevail'd-that faith was bless'd!"

True was the javelin thrown,

Yet pierced it not her warrior's breast,

She met it with her own!

And nobly won, where heroes fell

In arms for the holy shrine,

A death which saved what she loved so well,

And a grave in Palestine.

Then let the Rose of Sharon spread
Its breast to the glowing air,
And the Palm of Judah lift its head,
Green and immortal there!

And let yon grey stone, undefaced,
With its trophy mark the scene,
Telling the pilgrim of the waste,
Where Love and Death have been.

THE WRECK.

All night the booming minute-gun
Had peal'd along the deep,
And mournfully the rising sun

Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep.
A bark from India's coral strand,
Before the raging blast,

Had vail'd her topsails to the sand,
And bow'd her noble mast.

The queenly ship!-brave hearts had striven, And true ones died with her

We saw her mighty cable riven,

Like floating gossamer.

We saw her proud flag struck that morn,

A star once o'er the seas

Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn,

And sadder things than these.

We saw her treasures cast away-
The rocks with pearls were sown,
And strangely sad, the ruby's ray
Flash'd out o'er fretted stone.

And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze-

And gorgeous robes-but oh! that shore
Had sadder things than these!

We saw the strong man still and low,
A crush'd reed thrown aside-

Yet by that rigid lip and brow,

Not without strife he died.

And near him on the sea-weed lay-
Till then we had not wept,

But well our gushing hearts might say,
That there a mother slept!

For her pale arms a babe had prest,
With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp.

Her very tresses had been flung

To wrap the fair child's form,

Where still their wet long streamers clung,
All tangled by the storm.

And beautiful 'midst that wild scene,
Gleam'd up the boy's dead face,
Like Slumber's, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace.

Deep in her bosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet eye-
He had known little of her dread,
Nought of her agony!

Oh! human Love, whose yearning heart,
Through all things vainly true,

So stamps upon thy mortal part
Its passionate adieu-

Surely thou hast another lot,

There is some home for thee,

Where thou shalt rest, remembering not
The moaning of the sea!

THE RELEASE OF TASSO.

There came a bard to Rome; he brought a lyre
Of sounds to peal through Rome's triumphant sky,
To mourn a hero on his funeral pyre,

Or greet a conqueror with its war-notes high;
For on each chord had fallen the gift of fire,
The living breath of Power and Victory-
Yet he, its lord, the sovereign city's guest,
Sigh'd but to flee away, and be at rest.

He brought a spirit whose ethereal birth
Was of the loftiest, and whose haunts had been
Amidst the marvels and the pomps of earth,

Wild fairy-bowers, and groves of deathless green,
And fields, where mail-clad bosoms prove their worth,
When flashing swords light up the stormy scene—
He brought a weary heart, a wasted frame,-
The Child of Visions from a dungeon came.

On the blue waters, as in joy they sweep,
With starlight floating o'er their swells and falls,
On the blue waters of the Adrian deep,
His numbers had been sung-and in the halls,
VOL. I.-NO. 1.

22

Where, through rich foliage if a sunbeam peep,
It seems Heaven's wakening to the sculptur'd walls,-
Had princes listen'd to those lofty strains,

While the high soul they burst from, pin'd in chains.

And in the summer-gardens, where the spray
Of founts, far-glancing from their marble bed,
Rains on the flowering myrtles in its play,
And the sweet limes, and glassy leaves that spread
Round the deep golden citrons-o'er his lay
Dark eyes, dark, soft, Italian eyes had shed
Warm tears, fast-glittering in that sun, whose light
Was a forbidden glory to his sight.

Oh! if it be that wizard sign and spell,
And talisman had power of old to bind,
In the dark chambers of some cavern-cell,
Or knotted oak, the spirits of the wind,
Things of the lightning-pinion, wont to dwell
High o'er the reach of eagles, and to find
'Joy in the rush of storms-even such a doom
Was that high minstrel's in his dungeon-gloom.
But he was free at last!—the glorious land
Of the white Alps and pine-crown'd Apennines,
Along whose shore the sapphire seas expand,
And the wastes teem with myrtle, and the shrines
Of long-forgotten gods from Nature's hand
Receive bright offerings still; with all its vines,
And rocks, and ruins, clear before him lay-
The seal was taken from the founts of day.

ART. VIII. Commentaries on American Law. By JAMES KENT. Vol. i. New-York, Halsted: 1826.

To a peculiar, and in our opinion, a most impolitic provision in the constitution of the state of New-York, we are indebted for the present work. According to that fundamental law, no one can exercise the functions of a judge, after he has attained the age of sixty years; an age which, on this side of the Hudson, is considered as that at which the human mind, enriched by knowledge, matured by experience, and unclouded by turbulent passions, is fittest to decide with wisdom and calmness on the complicated affairs of men. Hence, in all countries and in all ages, from the days of Nestor to the present time, the

elders of the land have been looked up to as the soundest and most prudent advisers on nice and difficult questions, and to them the name of sages, which implies the highest degree of knowledge and wisdom, has been emphatically applied.

But it is otherwise in the state of New-York. There Jefferson and Adams, whose lives were prolonged much beyond the number of years commonly allotted to mankind, and whose lamps shone bright to the last moment, would, during a long period of their existence, have been considered unfit to fill even the petty offices of county magistrates, and to settle a triffing litigated case of slander or assault and battery. Washington, himself, at the moment when his hand was signing that celebrated instrument, the proclamation of neutrality, which saved our country from the horrors of war,* was actually disfranchised in one of the states that was at that time relying on the powers of his mind for its safety. Yet, even he, was incapacitated from being a justice of the peace in the county of Otsego; he was not fit for the office; he was too old; the faculties of his mind were impaired. Such was the reasoning which the New-York constitution would have applied to him as well as to any other, while that mind kept the enraged powers of Europe in respectful awe; and at home, regardless of opposition, was preparing this nation, by the blessings of a long peace, for the glories which it afterwards acquired by a short and successful

war.

Our author was appointed to the office of recorder of the city of New-York, in the month of March, 1797. In the year 1806, we find him filling the highest place in the Supreme Court of that state, in which he had sat for some years as a puisne judge. On the 25th of February, 1814, he was appointed to the office of chancellor, which he filled until the 31st of July, 1823, when on the stroke of the last hour announcing that he had reached the end of his sixtieth year, he was obliged to descend from the high station which he had filled with so much honour, and return to private life. This was the effect of the constitutional law that we have mentioned.

It is said, that this extraordinary law was adopted in consequence of the disgust occasioned by one Daniel Horsmanden, who under the royal government was chief justice of the pro vince of New-York. He was, and it appears justly too, a most unpopular judge; tenacious of his will, and arbitrary in his decisions. He lived to a very advanced age, and the revolution

• Washington was, at that time, (in 1793), sixty-one years of age. He was born in the year 1732.