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Or petted birds, still brighter than their bowers,
Or twined his tame young kangaroo with flowers,
But more magnetic yet to memory

Shall be the sacred spot, still blooming nigh,
The bower of love, where first his bosom burn'd,
And smiling passion saw its smile return'd.

Go forth, and prosper then, emprizing band!
May He, who in the hollow of his hand
The ocean holds, and rules the whirlwind's sweep,
Assuage its wrath, and guide you on the deep!

Campbell.

Ouglou's Onslaught.

A Turkish Battle-Song.

TCHASSAN OUGLOU is on! Tchassan Ouglou is on!
And with him to battle the Faithful are gone.
Alla, il allah! The tambour is rung,

And in his war-saddle each Spahi hath swung.
Now the blast of the desert sweeps over the land,
And the pale fires of heaven gleam in each Damask brand.
Alla, il allah!

Tchassan Ouglou is on! Tchassan Ouglou is on!
Abroad on the winds all his horse-tails are thrown.
'Tis the rush of the eagle, down cleaving through air-
'Tis the bound of the lion, when roused from his lair.
Ha! fiercer, and wilder, and madder by far-
On thunders the might of the Moslemite war.
Alla, il allah!

Forth lash their wild horses with loose-flowing rein,
The steel grides their flank, their hoof scarce dints the plain.
Like the mad stars of heaven, now the Delis rush out,
O'er the thunder of cannon swells proudly their shout—
And sheeted with foam, like the surge of the sea,
Over wreck, death, and wo, rolls each fierce Osmanli.
Alla, il allah!

Fast forward, still forward, man follows on man,
While the horse-tails are dashing afar in the van-
See where yon pale crescent and green turban shine,
-There, smite for the Prophet, and Othman's great line.

Alla, il allah! The fierce war-cry is given←→

For the flesh of the Giaour shriek the vultures of heaven.
Alla, il alla!

Alla, il allah! How thick, on the plain,
The Infidels cluster, like ripe, heavy grain!
The reaper is coming, the crook'd sickle's bare;
And the shout of the Faithful is rending the air,
Bismillah! Bismillah! Each far-flashing brand
Hath piled its red harvest of death on the land!
Alla, il allah!

Mark, mark yon green turban that heaves through the fight!
Like a tempest-toss'd bark 'mid the thunders of night.
See, parting before it, on right and on left,

How the dark billows tumble each saucy crest cleft!
Aye, horseman and footman reel back in dismay,
When the sword of stern Ouglou is lifted to slay.
Alla, il allah!

Alla, il allah! Tchassan Ouglou is on!

O'er the Infidel breast hath his fiery barb gone-
The bullets rain on him, they fall thick as hail;
The lances crash round him, like reeds in the gale—
But onward, still onward, for God and his law,
Through the dark strife of death bursts the gallant Pacha.
Alla, il allah!

In the wake of his might,-in the path of the wind,
Pour the sons of the Faithful, careering behind;
And, bending to battle, o'er each high saddle-bow,
With the sword of Azrael they sweep down the foe.
Alla, il allah! 'Tis Ouglou that cries-

In the breath of his nostril the Infidel dies!

Alla, il allah!

To the Clouds.

YE glorious pageants! hung in air
To greet our raptured view;
What in creation can compare
For loveliness with you?

This earth is beautiful indeed,

And in itself appeals

To eyes that have been taught to read

The beauties it reveals.

M

Motherwell.

Its giant-mountains, which ascend
To your exalted sphere,

And seem, at times, with you to blend
In majesty austere;

Its lovely valleys-forests vast;
Its rivers, lakes, and seas;

With every glance upon them cast,
The sight, the sense must please.

When, through the eastern gates of heaven,
The sun's first glories shine;
Or when his gentlest beams are given
To gild the day's decline;
All glorious as that orb appears,

His radiance still would lose
Each gentle charm, that most endears,
Without your softening hues.

When these with his refulgent rays
Harmoniously unite,

Who on your splendid pomp can gaze,
Nor feel a hush'd delight?
'Tis then, if to the raptured eye
Her aid the fancy brings,

In you our fancy can descry
Unutterable things!

Not merely mountains, cliffs, and caves,
Domes, battlements, and towers,
Torrents of light, that fling their waves

O'er coral rocks and bowers;

Not only what to man is known

In nature or in art;

But objects which on earth can own
No seeming counterpart.

As once the Seer in Patmos saw
Heaven's opening door reveal'd,
And scenes inspiring love and awe
To his rapt sight reveal'd;
So, in a faint and low degree,
Through your unfoldings bright,
Phantoms of glory yet to be
Dawn on the wondering sight.

Anonymous.

The Suicide.

SHE left her infant on the Sunday morn―
A creature doom'd to sin—in sorrow born,

She came not home to share our humble meal,
Her father thinking what his child might feel
From his hard sentence. Still she came not home.
The night grew dark, and yet she was not come;
The east wind roar'd, the sea return'd the sound;
And the rain fell, as if the world were drown'd;
There were no lights without; and my good-man,
To kindness frighten'd-with a groan began
To talk of Ruth, and pray-and then he took
The Bible down, and read the holy book:
For he had learning; and when that was done,
He sat in silence." Whither could we run?"
He said and then rush'd frighten'd from the door,
For we could bear our own conceits no more.
We call'd on neighbours-there she had not been;
We met some wanderers-our's they had not seen;
We hurried o'er the beach, both north and south,
Then join'd and hurried to our haven's mouth,
Where rush'd the falling waters wildly out;
I scarcely heard the good-man's fearful shout,
Who saw a something on the billow's side:
And "Heaven have mercy on our sins!" he cried, '
It is my child!"—and, to the present hour,
So he believes that spirits have the power.

And she was gone-the waters wide and deep
Roll'd o'er her body as she lay asleep.
She heard no more the angry waves and wind,
She heard no more the threatenings of mankind;
Wrapt in dark weeds, the refuge of the storm,
To the hard rock was borne her comely form.

But oh! what storm was in that mind, what strife,
That could compel her to lay down her life!
For she was seen within the sea to wade
By one at distance, when she first had pray'd;
Then to a rock within the hither shoal,
Softly, and with a fearful step, she stole;
Then, when she gain'd it, on the top she stood
A moment still-and dropp'd into the flood!

Crabbe.

The Last Tree of the Forest.

WHISPER, thou tree, thou lonely tree,
One, where a thousand stood!

Well might proud tales be told by thee,
Last of the solemn wood.

Dwells there no voice amidst thy boughs,
With leaves yet darkly green?
Stillness is round, and noontide glows
Tell us what thou hast seen,

"I have seen the forest-shadows lie
Where now men reap the corn;

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, I have seen the kingly chase rush by,
Through the deep glades at morn.

With the glance of many a gallant spear,
And the wave of many a plume,
And the bounding of a hundred deer,
It hath lit the woodland's gloom.

"I have seen the knight and his train ride past, With his banner borne on high;

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O'er all my leaves there was brightness cast

From his gleamy panoply.

The pilgrim at my feet hath laid

His palm-branch 'midst the flowers,
And told his beads, and meekly prayed,
Kneeling at vesper hours.

And the merry men of wild and glen,
In the green array they wore,
Have feasted here with red wine's cheer,
And the hunter-songs of yore.

And the minstrel, resting in my shade,
Hath made the forest ring

With the lordly tales of the high crusade,

Once loved by chief and king.

But now the noble forms are gone
That walk'd the earth of old;
The soft wind hath a mournful tone,
The sunny light looks cold.

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