And the millions that swore they would perish to save,
Behold him a fugitive, captive, and slave.

The savage, all wild in his glen,

Is nobler and better than thou!
Thou standest a wonder, a marvel to men !
Such perfidy blackens thy brow.
If thou wert the place of my birth,

At once from thy arms would I sever;
I'd fly to the uttermost ends of the earth,
And quit thee for ever and ever;

And thinking of thee in my long after-years,
Should but kindle my blushes and waken my tears.

Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul!

Oh, shame to thy children and thee!
Unwise in thy glory and base in thy fall,
How wretched thy portion shall be !
Derision shall strike thee forlorn,

A mockery that never shall die:
The curses of Hate and the hisses of Scorn
Shall burthen the winds of thy sky;

And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurled
The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the World.
Examiner.

A FRAGMENT.

Do any thing but love; or, if thou lovest,
And art a Woman, hide thy love from him
Whom thou dost worship; never let him know
How dear he is; flit like a bird before him,-
Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower;
But be not won, or thou wilt, like that bird
When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected,
And perish in forgetfulness.

Literary Gazette.

L. E. L.

THE PARTING.

BY THE REV. G. CROLY.

THE wind was wild, the sea was dark,
The lightning flashed above;-the bark
That anchored in the rocky bay,
Bathed its top pennon in the spray;
Hollow and gloomy as the grave,
Rolled to the shore the mighty wave;
Then gathering wild, with thundering sweep,
Flashed its white foam-sheet up the steep:-
The sight was terror-but behind
Shouts of pursuit were on the wind;
Trumpet, and yell, and clash of shield,
Told where the human hunters wheeled
Through the last valley's forest glen :
Where, Bertha, was thy courage then?
She cheered her warrior, though his side
Still with the gushing blood was dyed;
Up the rude mountain-path, her hand
Sustained his arm, and dragged his brand,
Nor shrank, nor sighed; and when his tread
Paused on the promontory's head,

She smiled, although her lip was pale
As the torn silver of his mail.

All there was still. The shouts had past,
Sunk in the rushings of the blast;
Below, the vapour's dark grey screen,
Shut out from view the long ravine;

Then swept the circle of the hill,
Like billows round an ocean isle.
The rays the parting sunbeam flung,
In white, cold radiance on them hung;
They stood upon that lonely brow,
Like spirits loosed from human woe,
And pausing, ere they spread the plume
Above that waste of storm and gloom.

To linger there was death,-but there
Was that which master's death,-Despair,
And even Despair's high master,-Love.
Her heart was like her form, above

The storms, the stormier thoughts that Earth
Makes the dread privilege of birth.
Passion's wild flame was past, but he
Who pined before her burning eye,
The numbered beatings of whose heart
Told, on that summit they must part-
He was life, soul, and world to her :
Beside him, what had she to fear?
Life had for her nor calm nor storm
While she stood gazing on that form,
And clasped his hand, though lost and lone,-
His dying hand, but all her own.

She knelt beside him, on her knee

She raised his wan cheek silently:

She spoke not, sighed not; to his breast,
Her own, scarce living now, was prest,
And felt,-if where the senses reel,
O'er wrought-o'er flooded-we can feel-
The thoughts, that when they cease to be,
Leave life one vacant misery.—
She kissed his chilling lip, and bore
The look, that told her all was o'er.

The echoes of pursuit again

Rolled on; she gazed upon the main;

Then seemed the mountain's haughty steep

Too humble for her desperate leap;
Then seemed the broad and bursting wave
Too calm, too shallow, for her grave.
She turned her to the dead:-his brow
Once more she gave her kiss of woe;
She gave his cheek one bitter tear,—
The last she had for passion here-

Then to the steep!-Away! Away!

To the whirlwind's roar, and the dash of the spray.

New Times.

HERO AND LEANDER.

IT is a tale that many songs have told,
And old, if tale of love can e'er be old;
Yet dear to me this lingering o'er the fate
Of two so young, so true, so passionate!
And thou, the idol of my harp, the Soul
Of poetry, to me my hope, my whole
Happiness of existence, there will be

Some gentlest tones that I have caught from thee!
Will not each heart-pulse vibrate, as I tell
of faith even unto death unchangeable!
LEANDER and his HERO! They should be,
When youthful lovers talk of constancy,
Invoked. Oh, for one breath of softest song,
Such as on summer evenings floats along,
To murmur low their history! Every word
That whispers of them, should be like those heard
At moonlight casements, when the awakened maid
Sighs her soft answer to the serenade.

She stood beside the altar, like the Queen,
The bright-eyed Queen that she was worshipping.
Her hair was bound with roses, which did fling
A perfume round, for she that morn had been
To gather roses, that were clustering now
Amid the shadowy curls upon her brow.
One of the loveliest daughters of thy land,
Divinest Greece! that taught the painter's hand
To give eternity to loveliness;

One of those dark-eyed maids, to whom belong
The glory and the beauty of each song

Thy poets breathed, for it was theirs to bless

With life the pencil and the lyre's soft dreams,
Giving reality to visioned gleams

Of bright divinities. Amid the crowd

That in the presence of young HERO bowed,
Was one who knelt with fond idolatry,

As if in homage to some deity,

Gazing upon her as each gaze he took
Must be the very last that intense look
That none but lovers give, when they would trace
On their hearts' tablets some adored face.
The radiant Priestess from the temple past;
Yet there LEANDER staid, to catch the last
Wave of her fragrant hair, the last low fall
Of her white feet, so light and musical;
And then he wandered silent to a grove,
To feed upon the full heart's ecstasy:
The moon was sailing o'er the deep blue sky,
Each moment shedding fuller light above,
As the pale crimson from the west departs.
Ah, this is just the hour for passionate hearts
To linger over dreams of happiness,
All of young love's delicious loveliness!

The cypress waved upon the evening air
Like the long tresses of a beauty's hair;
And close beside was laurel, and the pale
Snow blossoms of the myrtle tree, so frail
And delicate, like woman; 'mid the shade
Rose the white pillars of the colonnade
Around the marble temple, where the Queen
Of Love was worshipped, and there too was seen,
Where the grove ended, the so glorious sea
Now in its azure sleep's tranquillity.

He saw a white veil wave,—his heart beat high;
He heard a voice, and then a low toned sigh.
Gently he stole amid the shading trees :—

It is his love-his HERO that he sees!

Her hand lay motionless upon the lute,

Which thrilled beneath the touch; her lip was mute, Only her eyes were speaking; dew and light

There blended like the hyacinth, when night

Has wept upon its bosom; she did seem

As consciousness were lost in some sweet dream :That dream was love! Blushes were on her cheek, And what, save love, do blushes ever speak?

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