Where every grim basaltic cliff sings to the lashing spray,
The only rock harmonicon that's heard both night and day;
And fast unto a mighty stone

The monk his vessel made.
At other time, in spot so lone,
He had been sore afraid.

But, ere he'd any time to think,
Or from his venture wild to shrink,
Uprising from the whirlpool's brink
Lurline her form betrayed;

And with a voice of magic tone

Thus sang she, to an air well known:

"I'm the fairest of Rhine's fairy daughters, Lurley-ety!
Though I ought not to say so myself;

Each peri that dwells 'neath its waters, Lurley-ety!
I rule; and my slave is each elf.

Then come, love; oh come, love, with me,

I thy own peri, Winkle, will be.

Haste, haste to my home, I implore, Lurley-ety!

And give up the cells of the St. Goar.

Lurley-ety! Lurley-ety!-Now make up your mind,
Lurley-ety! Lurley-ety!-or else stay behind.

Lurley-ety-ety-y-y-y,"

The song had concluded, and hushed was the strain,
Except what the echoes sang over again,

As the notes died away

In the noise of the spray,

When Winkle, o'ercome, shouted, "Lurline! oh! stay!
Believe me, yours truly—yours truly—for aye!"
He said; and plung'd in,

Midst the clash and the din

Of the eddies ne'er ceasing to bubble and spin,
And the rock of the Lurleyberg tried to make fast to,
Like the mates of Enæas in Gurgitè vasto ;
But soon through the tide

Came Lurline to his side,

And into the vortex her lovèd did guide:
One shriek of despair

From the monk rent the air,

As he whirl'd round and round like a thing at a fair;
Whilst Lurline, enraptured a priest to ensnare,

Plung'd after her victim, to meet him elsewhere.

The waters clos'd over his head with a roar,

And the young Father Winkle was heard of no more

At least that I know of. My legend is o'er.

Moral.

Mistrust all short dresses, and jupes crinolines,

Whether sported by Alma, Giselle, or Ondine;

For, once caught by some bright-eyed Terpsichore's daughter, You won't very long keep your head above water.

MARULLUS'S SPEECH TO THE MOB-IN JULIUS CESAR.

Shakspeare.

WHEREFORE rejoice? That Cæsar comes in triumph ?

What conquest brings he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O you hard hearts! you cruel men of Rome!
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows; yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone-

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plagues
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

LOGAN, THE MINGO CHIEF.
Jefferson.

I MAY challenge the whole orations of Demosthenes and Cicero, and of any more eminent orator (if Europe has furnished more eminent), to produce a single passage superior to the speech of Logan, a Mingo Chief, to Lord Dunmore, when governor of this State. And as a testimony of their talents in this line, I beg leave to introduce it, first stating the incidents necessary for understanding it.

In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery was committed by some Indians on certain land adventurers on the river Ohio. The whites in that quarter, according to their custom, undertook to punish this outrage in a summary way. Captain Michael Cressop, and a certain Daniel Greathouse, leading on these parties, surprised, at different times, travelling and hunting parties of the Indians, having their women and children

* Virginia.

with them, and murdered many. Among these were, unfortunately, the family of Logan, a chief celebrated in peace and war, and long distinguished as a friend of the whites. This unworthy return provoked his vengeance. He accordingly signalized himself in the war which ensued. In the autumn of the same year, a decisive battle was fought at the mouth of the Great Kasihaway, between the collected forces of the Shawnese, Mingoes, and Delawares, and a detachment of the Virginia militia. The Indians were defeated, and sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants; but lest the sincerity of a treaty should be distrusted, from which so distinguished a chief absented himself, he sent, by a messenger, the following speech to be delivered to Lord Dunmore :

"I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said-Logan is the friend of white men.' I had ever thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cressop, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan-not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature.

This called on me

for revenge. I have sought it: I have killed many: I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beam of peace; but do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear: Logan never felt fear! -he will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? No one."

BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

Campbell.

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stained snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet,
Shall be a soldier's cemetery.

THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.

Reginald Heber.

For many a coal-black tribe, and caney spear,
The hireling guards of Mizraim's throne, were there;
On either wing, their fiery coursers check,

The parch'd and sinewy sons of Amalek;
While close behind, inur'd to feast on blood,

Deck'd in Behemoth's spoils, the tall Shangalla strode.-
Mid blazing helms, and bucklers rough with gold,

Saw ye how swift the scythèd chariots roll'd?

Lo! these are they whom, lords of Afric's fates,

Old Thebes has pour'd through all her hundred gates—
Mother of armies! How the emerald glow'd

Where, flush'd with power and vengeance, Pharaoh rode;
And, stol'd in white, those blazing wheels before,

Osiris' ark his swarthy wizards bore:

And, still responsive to the trumpet's cry,

The priestly sistrum murmur'd-" Victory!"

Why swell these shouts, that rend the desert's gloom?
Whom come ye forth to combat, warrior, whom?
These flocks and herds-this faint and weary train,
Red from the scourge, and weary from the chain?
Friend of the poor! the poor and friendless save—
Giver and Lord of freedom! help the slave.-
North, south, and west, the sandy whirlwinds fly,
The circling pale of Egypt's chivalry:

On earth's last margin throng the weeping train,

Their cloudy guide moves on-and must we swim the main?

Mid the light spray their snorting camels stood,
Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood.

He comes!-their leader comes! The Man of God
O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod,

And onward treads; the circling waves retreat,
In hoarse, deep murmurs, from his holy feet;
And the chased surges, only roaring, show
The hard wet sand and coral hills below.
With limbs that falter, and with hearts that swell,
Down, down they pass a steep and slippery dell;
Round them arise, in pristine chaos hurl'd,
The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world;
And flowers that blush beneath the ocean's green!
And caves, the sea-calf's low-roof'd haunts, are seen.
Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread,
The seething waters storm above their head;
While, far behind retires the sinking day,
And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray.
Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light,

Or dark to them, or cheerless came the night;

Still in the van, along that dreadful road,

Blazed broad and fierce the brandished torch of God;
Its meteor-glare a tenfold lustre gave

On the long mirror of the rosy wave;

While its blest beams a sunlike heat supply,
Warm every cheek, and dance in every eye-

To them alone:-for Mizraim's wizard train
Invoke for light their monster-gods in vain:

Clouds heap'd on clouds their struggling sight confine,
And tenfold darkness broods along their line.
Yet on they go, by reckless vengeance led,

And range unconscious through the ocean's bed;
'Till, midway now, that strange and fiery Form,

Show'd his dread visage, lightning through the storm

With withering splendour blasted all their might,

And brake their chariot-wheels, and marr'd their coursers' flight. "Fly, Mizraim, fly!" The rav'nous floods they see,

And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity!

"Fly, Mizraim, fly!" From Edom's coral strand,
Again the Prophet stretched his dreadful wand:
With one wild crash the thundering waters sweep,
And all is waves-a dark and lonely deep;
Yet o'er these lonely waves such murmurs past,
As mortal wailing swelled the nightly blast,
And strange and sad the whispering surges bore
The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore.

O welcome came the morn, where Israel stood,
In trustless wonder, by the avenging flood!
O welcome came the cheerful morn, to show
The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below;
The mangled limbs of men, the broken car,

M