Just Allah! what must be thy look,

When such a wretch before thee stands
Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,—
Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands,
And wresting from its page sublime

His creed of lust, and hate, and crime?
E'en as those bees of Trebizond, -

Which, from the sunniest flowers that glad With their pure smile the gardens round, Draw venom forth that drives men mad!

Never did fierce Arabia send

A satrap forth more direly great; Never was Iran doom'd to bend

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight.

Her throne had fall'n,- her pride was crush'd,
Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd
In their own land, no more their own,-
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne.
Her towers, where Mithra once had burned,
To Moslem shrines- oh shame! were turned,
Where slaves, converted by the sword,
Their mean, apostate worship pour'd,
And curs'd the faith their sires ador'd.
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill,
O'er all this wreck, high buoyant still

With hope and vengeance; — hearts that yet —
Like gems in darkness issuing rays
They've treasur'd from the sun that's set

Beam all the light of long lost days:
And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow
To second all such hearts can dare;

As he shall know, well, dearly know,

-

Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there,
Tranquil, as if his spirit lay

Becalm'd in Heav'n's approving ray!

Sleep on for purer eyes than thine

Those waves were hush'd, those planets shine:
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmov'd

By the white moonbeam's dazzling power;
None but the loving and the lov'd

Should be awake at this sweet hour. Moore.

TRAVELLERS TAKING SHELTER IN A FOREST.

Obliged to seek some covert near at hand,
A shady grove not far away they spied,
That promised aid the tempest to withstand;
Whose lofty trees, gay clad with summer's pride,
Did spread so broad, they Heaven's light did hide,
Not to be pierc'd by power of any star;

And all within were paths and alleys wide,

With footing worn, and leading inward far:

Fair shelter, as it seemed, so soon they entered are.

And on they pass, by pleasure forward led,
Joying to hear the birds' sweet harmony,
Who here, safe shrouded from the tempest dread,
Seemed in their song to scorn the cruel sky.
Much did they praise the trees, so straight and high;
The sailing pine, the cedar proud and tall;
Vine-propping elm, and poplar never dry;
The builder oak, sole king of forests all;

The aspen, good for staves; the cypress, funeral.

The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors,

And poets sage; the fir that weepeth still;
The willow, wont to twine the mourner's brow;
The yew, obedient to the bender's will;

The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill;

The myrrh, sweet gums distilling from its wound;
The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill;

The fruitful olive, and the plaintain round;

The carver's holme; the maple, seldom inward sound.

SONGS OF THE PIXIES.

Spenser.

The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county, half way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies' parlour. The roots of old trees form its ceiling, and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the author discovered his own cypher, and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of these hills flows the river Otter. this place the author conducted a party of young ladies during the summer months of 1793, one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen. On which occasion, and at which time, the following irregular ode was written.

I.

Whom the untaught shepherds call

Pixies in their madrigal,

Fancy's children, here we dwell;

Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

Το

Here, the wren, of softest note,
Builds its nest and warbles well;
Here the blackbird strains his throat,
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

II.

When fades the moon all shadowy pale,
And scuds the cloud before the gale,
Ere Morn, with living gems bedight,
Streaks the East with purple light,
We sip the furze flower's fragrant dews
Clad in robes of rainbow hues,
Richer than the deepened bloom

That glows on Summer's scented plume,
Or sport amid the rosy gleam,
Soothed by the distant tinkling team,
While lusty labour, scouting sorrow,
Bids the dame a glad good morrow,
Who jogs the accustomed road along,
And paces cheery to her cheery song.

III.

But not one filmy pinion,

We scorch amid the blaze of day, When noon-tide's fiery tressed minion Flashes the fervid ray.

Aye from the sultry heat,

We in the cave retreat,

O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age; Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,

Beneath whose foliage pale,

Fanned by the unfrequent gale,

We shield us from the tyrant's mid-day rage.

IV.

Thither, while the murmuring throng
Of wild bees hum their drowsy song,
By Indolence and Fancy brought,

A youthful Bard, "unknown to fame,"
Woos the Queen of Solemn Thought,
And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh,
Gazing with tearful eye,

As round our sandy grot appear

Many a rudely sculptured name
To pensive Memory dear!

Weaving gay dreams of sunny tinctured hue

We glance before his view:

O'er his hushed soul our soothing witcheries shed, And twine our fairy garlands round his head.

V.

When Evening's dusky car,

Crowned with her dewy star,

Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight,

On leaves of aspen trees

We tremble to the breeze,

Veiled from the grösser ken of mortal sight:

Or, haply at the visionary hour,

Along our wild sequestered walk,

We listen to the enamoured rustic's talk;
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,
Where young eyed loves have built their turtle nest,