By the foes ye've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds ye've done,
Trophies captured-breaches mounted,
Navies conquer'd,-kingdoms won !

Yet remember, England gathers
Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the freedom of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.

What are monuments of bravery,
Where no public virtues bloom?
What avail in lands of slavery,
Trophied temples, arch and tomb?

Pageants! let the world revere us
For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes

Bared in Freedom's holy cause !

2

Yours are Hampden's,1 Russell's glory,

Sydney's matchless shade is yours,-
Martyrs in heroic story,

4

Worth a hundred Agincourts!

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We're the sons of sires that baffled

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Crown'd and mitred tyranny:

They defied the field and scaffold
For their birthrights-so will we !

CAMPBELL.

1 Hampden-John Hampden, an upholder of the rights of the people, who refused to pay a tax levied by Charles I. called "shipmoney," declaring it to be illegal, because not voted by Parliament.

2 William, Lord Russell, who, in the reign of Charles II., joined the Earl of Essex, Algernon Sydney and others in opposing the succession of the Duke of York, in the belief that if he came to the throne English liberty would no longer be secure.

3 Algernon Sydney (referred to in the note above), who had always resisted any encroachment on the liberties of the people, and was in favour of liberty of worship.

4 Hampden lost his life in the battle of Chalgrove Field, 1643: Russell and Sydney were accused of treason, convicted, and beheaded, 1683.

SIGNS OF RAIN.

THE hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the glass is low,
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
The spiders from their cobwebs peep:
Last night the sun went pale to bed,
The moon in halos hid her head;
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For, see, a rainbow spans the sky :
The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.
Hark how the chairs and tables crack!
Old Betty's joints are on the rack;
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
The distant hills are seeming nigh.
How restless are the snorting swine;
The busy flies disturb the kine;
Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,
The cricket too, how sharp he sings:
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
Sits wiping o'er her whisker'd jaws.
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the incautious flies.
The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
Illumed the dewy dell last night.
At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
Hopping and crawling o'er the green;
The whirling wind the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays;
The frog has changed his yellow vest,
And in a russet coat is dressed.
Though June, the air is cold and still,
The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.
My dog, so altered in his taste,
Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;
And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,
They imitate the gliding kite,

And seem precipitate to fall,

As if they felt the piercing ball.

'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow, Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

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DR. E. JENNER.

FRIENDS.

FRIEND after friend departs;
Who hath not lost a friend?

There is no union here of hearts,

That finds not here an end :

Were this frail world our only rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of Time,
Beyond this vale of death,

There surely is some blessèd clime,
Where life is not a breath,

Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward to expire.

There is a world above,
Where parting is unknown;
A whole eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone;

And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that happier sphere.

J. MONTGOMERY.

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HUME AND MURRAY, OR FAIR
ROSALINE'S ESCAPE.

STOUT Hume, he dwelt in fair Scotland,
A worthy wight was he;

Whene'er he raised his burnish'd brand,
He caused his foes to flee.

And yet he was in prime of youth,

Of years scant twenty-five;
In deeds of war, to say the truth,
He fear'd no man alive.

Of years scant twenty-five was he,
And comely was his face ;
His yellow locks, in ringlets free,

Hung down his neck with grace.

His cheeks were red, for health was there,
And taught the blood to flow;
His limbs were strong, yet light as air
He chased the bounding roe.

Stout Hume to youthful Murray said,
"My soul is sick with love;
I'm vanquish'd by an English maid,
Thy faith I mean to prove.

Oft hast thou told me, trust my aid,

In any bold emprize;

Quoth Murray, "What he once hath said,

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Accursed be who denies !

"The word which once I promised have,

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I still will keep to death :

Thou shalt not frown upon my grave;

I'm thine while I have breath."

"Then saddle straight thy dapple steed,

And take thy bow in hand;

While I, to serve in time of need,

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Gird on my trusty band.

And let us straight to Langley's haste,

A churlish knight, and bold;

Fair Rosaline, his daughter chaste,

Is she I long t'enfold.

"He is a knight of Percy's train ;
And when a hostage there,

I strove fair Rosaline to gain,
But he refused my prayer.

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"O Rosaline! how passing fair,

How beautiful art thou!

Like clust'ring blossoms waves thy hair
Upon the summer bough.

"Thy forehead mocks the mountain snow, 45 Thy lips the scarlet thread;

Thy cheeks, where blooming roses grow,

Is Cupid's' fragrant bed.

"In her sweet eyes his form he shrouds,
And whets his darts of war;
Her eyebrows are the heavenly clouds

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"Why sit we here," quoth Murray, "then,

And spend our time in words?

Let us together call our men,

And bid them take their swords."

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"Nay, Murray, nay, but thou and I

Must do this deed alone;"

"Let us," brave Murray answer'd, “fly,

The deed it shall be done."

Each mounted then his dapple steed,

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They left the Scottish strand;

Through Langley's wood they now proceed,
In fair Northumberland.

They reach'd the gate at morning tide,

The gate of Langley place;

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When through a window Rosaline spy'd

Her stately lover's pace.

"What light dispels the morning gloom!

'Tis she! my love! 'tis she!"

Then to the ditch-side hasted Hume,
And lowly bent his knee.

1 Cupid's-love's.

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