table world, seemed to stand in their proud strength, awaiting the blast of heaven, like the giants of old, who breathed defiance to the lightnings of the mighty Jupiter. This awful tranquillity was at length broken by a deep groan, which increased in strength, and became more frequent, as it approached Amba. Scarcely knowing whither she fled, she reached the buttress of a bombax, projecting like a low wall several yards beyond the parent stem, and running along the narrow ridge, she twisted her hands into the parasitical plant which encircled its massy trunk, and gradually mounted till she reached one of the lower branches, where, taking off her scarf, she tied herself fast to it, that the rockings caused by the storm might not precipitate her to the ground. She had scarcely done this, when a huge lion came to the spot she had just quitted, continuing his howlings, rolling his large fierce eyes, and lashing his sides with his tail. He solemnly paced on, making the whole forest echo with his cries. The monkeys were heard jumping through the boughs, that they might nestle close to each other in groups, one of them occasionally setting up a shrill piercing scream, as he was in danger of falling, from the pressure of his companions, who were anxious to get into his place. A faint cry, like that of an agonized human being, proceeded from the sloth, which was answered by the loud laugh of the hyæna, as if in mockery of distress. But the storm began, and all voices were drowned in the sweeping whirlwind, which seemed to shake every tree from its roots; many of the lower ones fell. But as the blast increased, a mighty crash was heard, which seemed to involve the forest in ruins. A huge baobab, which had defied the storm for centuries, at last gave way before its fierce enemy, and fell prostrate, bringing with it every tree which grew in its vicinity, and crushing all the living beings which had sought refuge in its branches. As if satisfied with the deed, the whirlwind ceased, and was succeeded by a lengthened roll of thunder, like a shout of triumph. Large drops of rain followed, and heaven and earth seemed as if joined by one broad sheet of water. The lightning alone illumined the darkness, and striking a tree not far from Amba, split it to its base, and set the forest in a blaze, which was stifled by the torrents that poured upon it. The thunder which followed seemed to shake the earth even to its centre, as it rose to the shock with a convulsive heave. At length the storm died away, and the sun flashed his bright beams through the massy foliage, the drooping branches raised their heads, the birds trimmed their feathers, and from the smallest insect to the huge elephant, all nature seemed to wake as if from a stupor."

Incidents and images of terror are here powerfully collected and narrated. The nature of the scene requires all the strength of colouring used in portraying it.

We take a large portion of the stanzas entitled "Forget me Not"-but not more than will be read with pleasure

The star that shines so pure and bright,

Like a far-off place of bliss,

And tells the broken-hearted

There are brighter worlds than this;
The moon that courses through the sky,
Like man's uncertain doom,

Now shining bright with borrow'd light,
Now wrapp'd in deepest gloom,
Or when eclipsed, a dreary blank,
A fearful emblem given

Of the heart shut out by a sinful world
From the blessed light of heaven;-
The flower that freely casts its wealth

Of perfume on the gale;

The breeze that mourns the summer's close
With melancholy wail;

The stream that cleaves the mountain's side,

Or gurgles from the grot

All speak in their Creator's name,

And say "Forget me not!"

When man's vain heart is swoln with pride,
And his haughty lip is curl'd,

And from the scorner's seat he smiles

Contempt upon the world;

Where glitter crowns and coronets,

Like stars that gem the skies,

And Flattery's incense rises thick,

To blind a monarch's eyes;

Where the courtier's tongue with facile lie
A royal ear beguiles;

Where suitors live on promises,

And sycophants on smiles;

Where each, as in a theatre,

Is made to play his part;

Where the diadem hides a troubled brow,

And the star an aching heart:

There, even there, mid pomp and pow'r
Is oft a voice that calls

"Forget me not," in thunder,
Throughout the palace halls.

Go! hie thee to the rank churchyard,
Where flits the shadowy ghost,
And see how little pride has left
Whereon to raise a boast.
See Beauty claiming sisterhood
With the noisome reptile worm;-
Oh where are all the graces fled
That once array'd her form!

Fond hope no more on her smile will feed,

Nor wither at her frown:

Her head will rest more quiet now

Than when it slept on down.

With cloven crest and bloody shroud
The once proud warrior lies;

And the patriot's heart hath not one throb
To give to a nation's cries.

A solemn voice will greet thine ear
As thou lingerest round the spot,
And cry from out the sepulchre,
"Frail man, Forget me not!"

Oh! who that sees the vermeil cheek
Grow day by day more pale,
And Beauty's form to shrink before
The summer's gentlest gale,
But thinks of Him, the mighty One,
By whom the blow is given,
As if the fairest flowers of earth
Were early pluck'd for heaven.
Oh yes! on every side we see
The impress of his hand;-
The air we breathe is full of Him,
And the earth on which we stand.
Yet heedless man regards it not,
But life's uncertain day
In idle hopes and vain regrets
Thus madly wastes away.
But in his own appointed time
He will not be forgot;-

Oh! in that hour of fearful strife,

Great God, forget me not!

There is a despairing tenderness, a touching resignation, in the lines, headed Maria de Torquemada," which will excuse us to the heart of sensibility, for giving them entire.

There is a spot, a holy spot,

A refuge for the wearied mind,
Where earth's wild visions are forgot,
And love, thy poison-spells untwined.

There learns the wither'd heart to pray-
There gently breaks earth's weary chain:
Nay, let me weep my life away-
Let me do all, but love again!

Oh, Thou that judgest of the heart,
Look down upon this bosom bare;

And all, all mercy as thou art,

Save from that wildest, worst despair!

There, silent, dreamless, loveless, lone,
The agony at last is o'er;

The bleeding breast is turn'd to stone-
Hope dies, and Passion burns no more.

I ask not death-I wait thy will-
I dare not touch my fleeting span:
But let me, oh! not linger still,

The slave of misery and man!

Why sink my steps! one struggle past,
And all the rest is quiet gloom:
Eyes, look your longest and your last,
Then turn ye to your cell-and tomb.

Fly swift, ye hours!-The convent grate
To me is opening Paradise:

The keenest bitterness of fate

Can last but-till its victim dies!

Of a different character is the following "song,"-beaming

with joy and content.

When Zephyr comes fresh'ning the broad summer glare,
And fans thee, and toys with thy bright raven hair;

When thy lips with a smile gently parting, reveal
The pearls they repose on, but will not conceal;

When thy cheek and thy bosom have each its fresh rose,
And the tide of thy joy in sweet melody flows:
Be thus, I exclaim, ever simple and free,
Rejoicing in nature, and nature in thee.

When the full rising moon, with its bright golden beam,
Breaks faintly, and gleams on the slumbering stream;
When like gems in its lustre the tears fondly start,
As the song of the nightingale steals to thy heart,
And the charm to a gentle confession gives birth
Of that love which is all I am proud of on earth:
'Tis thus, I exclaim, thou art dearest to me,
Enamour'd of nature, and nature of thee.

Although the experiment of Stanley, upon the affection of his betrothed, when the "bridal hour was nigh," was at once cruel and senseless, yet it is prettily related; and this "ordeal of the heart" will be read with interest. It is true, the disguise of a lover in the garb of a Palmer, is a trite and clumsy contrivance to deceive.

Fair beam'd the morn-the glowing wave
Blush'd, as the orient god of light
Forsook its breast, and ardent gave

His smiles to earthly things more bright!
Sweet was the breath of opening May;
So blithe were birds on tree and thorn,
As though they tuned their richest lay
To grace the birth of the bridal morn.
And in her bower, expectant there,
Stood Lilias, loving, lovely maid;
Sweet as the rose, though far more fair,
And half in joy and half afraid

She waited for her lover, while

Her heart with passion's hope beat high;
Her blushing cheek, her timid smile,
Told that the bridal hour was nigh!

But Stanley came not, though the tongue
Of Time's old herald, from the tower

Of distant abbey, loudly rung

The signal of the promised hour.

"Soon, oh how soon"-thus Lilias thought,
"The truant to my arms will fly!"
She turn'd, and in her mirror caught

A glance-and blush'd, she knew not why.
He came not yet-the maiden's eye

Through flowering shrub and blossom'd spray
Look'd anxious, while a gentle sigh
Arose, to chide his long delay.

He linger'd still-he linger'd longer-
How drear the moments pass, how slow,
With her whose doubt of man grows stronger,
Who feels no faith in aught below!

Hark! 'tis the wind that shakes the bough-
Again-fair Lilias' listening ear

Smarts with delight-it catches now
The music of his footstep near!

Oh! now in trembling hope she stood,
Turn'd from the youth her lovely face,
With frolic smile and playful mood,

To teach the loiterer better grace!
He spoke 'twas not the voice she knew,
Rich as the mellow'd bugle's lay;
She turn'd-and lo! before her view
A palmer, in his robe of gray!

"Palmer! what brings thee here?" she cried;
"Lady! I seek thee in thy bower-
Thou canst not be proud Stanley's bride;
Man changes with the changing hour!
"Lady! thy love is false!"-"Nay! nay!
Good palmer! tell not this to me!
Go, tell it to the heedless spray,

And the wind that rocks the restless sea!
"I heed thee not!-he must be true!
So let thy cheerless stay be brief!
His love is to my heart like dew

That falls to glad the drooping leaf!
"Palmer! farewell!"-"Stay, lady-see!
He sends the pledge thy love once gave;
He spurns the gift-renounces thee-

Shall I tell it now to the restless wave?"
She took the pledge, that jewel rare,
Gazed on it long with tearful eye,

Then threw it, with a scornful air,
Down in the stream that murmur'd by.
"Go, palmer, go!-but tell it not
That Lilias shed one tear for him,
Though thus estranged our earthly lot,
May his be bright, though mine be dim!
"And tell him not my heart is broken,
And fled my fondest, brightest dream
Gone, like that first affection's token,
Swept away by the passing stream!"