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“But murmuring thus, I sin! Dear friend, forgive a One little glimpse sufficeth me,
mother's grief, I see the view I wish to see,
And tell me of my son ; thy words will bring assured Two horsemen riding merrily!
Tell me of each minutest look - even of his suffer. *T is but my father and my brother!
ings tell, Look sister, 't is indeed none other!
My heart takes comfort from thy voice, for thou didst LOUISA.
love him well!" Now may your beauty fair befall! Just look below the castle-wall;
“I loved him well, oh, passing well! all he had
been to thee Who rides bare-headed ?
Friend, counsellor, the spirit's life - so had he been CECILIA. 'Tis Sir John,
to me! And by his side Lord Erlington!
Yet murmur not, thou broken heart, our vision fails
to show LOUISA. And now I hear my father's laughter,
The scope of that mysterious good whose base is
human woe! As he and Henry gallop afier!
“ Thy best-beloved murmured not, his faith was
never dim, And that strong love which was his life, sprang
everywhere for him. AN ENGLISHI GRAVE AT MUSSOOREE. We saw him droop, and many a one, else scarce to
Watched him, as tender parents watch a favourite Mussooree, the site of a station which is now one of the chief
drooping child. Tesorts of the visiters from the plains, stands at an elevation of seven thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea,
For the hot plains where he had lain, by cureless aod is situated on the southern face of the ridge called the Landour Range, and overlooking the village of that name,
wounds oppressed, which has been chosen for the establishment of a military We bore him to the northern hills, to a sweet land wanitarium, for those officers and privates belonging to the
of rest. Bengal army, who have lost their health in the plains. Nothing can be imagined mure delicious to an invalid, half Oh, what a joy it was to him to feel the cool winds dytos under the burning sun of India, than the being removed
blow, too she fino, bracing, and cool atmosphere of this station. To see the golden morning light array the peaks of All round him are the most sublime natural objects the most
snow! stupendous rivers and mountains of the world, but all subdued into a character of astonishing beauty; while the growth of the hills, and of the very ground under his feet, must transport
"What joy to see familiar things where'er his footLim back joto his native Britain.
sleps trod; The oak-tree in the mountain-cleft; the daisy on the
• Tell me about my son, dear friend, for I can bear The primrose and the violet; the green moss of the to know,
rill; Now that my heart is stayed by prayer, that history The crimson wild-briar rose, and the strawberry of of woe!
the hill! Bat whence was it, of seven sons, all men of strength
How often these sweet living flowers were bathed and pride, This only one—the gentlest one-forsook his mother's For then his loving spirit drank the joy of bygone
in blissful tears, side!
years; ** That he in whom a flower, a star, a love-inspired And sitting 'mong those giant hills, his boyhood round word,
him lay The poet's beart, all tenderness, even from his boy. That sunny time of careless peace, so long since past hood surred;
away. Who was my dearest counsellor, in his dead father's “He told me of his English home; I knew it well place;
before ; Who was a daughter unto me, who ne'er did one Mine eyes had seen its trees, or ere my shadow ernbrace.
crossed the door; • Flow was it that he only left his home, his native. The very sun-dial on the green, I knew its face
again ; laod, He only, kindest, gentlest, and youngest of my
And this small summer parlour with its jasmine
wreathed pane. band ? That he whom I had looked to close mine eyes — to " And thou! all thou hadst been to him, he told me ; lay me low,
bade me seek Dred first, and far away! Oh God, thy counsels who Thy face, and to thy broken heart dear words of shall know !
comfort speak :
Oh, mother of the blessed dead, weep not; sweet
thoughts of thee. Like ministering angels at the last, the joyous soul
set free! “Oh, mother of the dead, weep not as if that far-off
grave Possessed thy spirit's best beloved — thy beautiful,
thy brave;' The gifted, living soul lies not beneath that Eastern
sod, All thou hast cherished liveth still, and calleth thee
Wherefore this? for thou wert still
THE FAVOURITE OF THE HAREM.
THE TOMB OF ST. GEORGE.
LARGE the eye, and dark as night;
"This romantic spot is on the route from Beirout to Tripoli, in the bay of Kerouan, the shores of which display an exqorsite verdure, cultivation, and cheerluiners; The villagrs dod convents, one situated above another up the declivities, ba ve a most romantic appearance. This sliange excavation appears to have been once a chapel, and is commonly called the Tomb of St. George, our Tutelar saint, whose combat with the dragon is said to have taken plare at no great distance. On the opposite side of the bay is a Roman arch, and a beig tiful rocky promontory. This spor is between Nabr-el-kelb and Batroun. The villages on the hills, are neally built, all fat-roofed, with little latticed windows; Iwo or three of the larger edifices are convenis, wjih a pleasant aspect towards the sea, each having its garden and vineyard : the soil is very fruitlul. In the hile in the interior of Asia Minor, the rocks are not unfrequent y excavaled into a kind of chambers, ar ciently sepulchral, but now inhabited by peasants and shepherds, and which offer to the traveller a warmer shelier than a ruined khan; the woods supply a good fire, and neither wind nor rain find a passage. Many of these rocks, pierced with ancient catacombs, present, 8! a small distance, the exact appearance of towers and castles: the people, as in the time of Job, "embrace the caverns of the rock for shihet, and dwel in the cliffs of the valley, fleeing into the wilderness desolate and waste."
The wondrous days of old romance
Like summer flowers are fled ; Their mighly men ; their lovely dames;
Their minstrels all are dead!
The ancient times are gone indeed;
grew The corn waves green, and busy towns
Are thronged with people new.
And where Caerleon lay
Gone are the knights of Italy;
The paladins of Spain;
Lies low as Charlemagne.
In England or in France,
Worth lifting of the lance.
Were good St. George to speed,
From dragons to be freed.
Or if they linger still,
No dire dun-cows they kill.
'Mongst common things are laid; Even Wallace's two-handed sword
Is now a rusty blade.
Its caves and castles strong ;
Live but in ancient song!
How pleasant do ye seem;
For winter-nights a theme!
To call to life again
And those Caerleon men!
There met he six of his forlorn disciples,
“ Friends, as was the Lord then,
Such, in the royal chapel of Palermo,
Low bent the crowd, within the royal chapel,
To see the steeds whereon they rode,
It was a goodly sight;
So coal-black and so white !
Oh, 't was a wondrous pleasant thing,
When I was but a child,
Adventure strange and witd!
But 't is not now as then,
And not the living men!
This town has the distinguished honour of being the birthplace of Lords Eldon and Stowell, who were also both educated at its grammar-school. The eighth anniversary of the British Association for the Advancement of Science was held here during the autumn of 1838. On that occasion Dr. Buckland, referring to the many noble literary and scientific inetitutions which now adorn the place, remarked, that "twentyfive years ago he was in Newcastle, and the Literary and Philosophical Society was the only institution of a literary or scientific character ; but in subsequent years many other societies had sprung up. It was in the recollection of persons now living, that before any of these societies existed in Newcastle, cock-fighting, and bull and bear baiting, were the recreations of the inhabitants; but in this latter day, how great a change! In the former period, Newcastle was chiefly famous as the centre whence radiated physical heat, and for its transcendent grindstones, which were celebrated from China to Peru: but now it gave out to afar, mental light and heal and was an intellectual whetstone for the minds of men."
VESPERS IN THE CAPELLA REALE.
“Twas on the Easter Monday, in the evening,
A City-Street. I LOVE the fields, the woods, the streams,
The wild-flowers fresh and sweet,
The crowded city-street;
I see within the city-street
Life's most extreme estates, The gorgeous domes of palaces;
The prison's doleful grates; The hearths by household virtues blest, The dens that are the serpent's nest.
I see the rich man, proudly fed
And richly clothed, pass by ; I see the shivering, homeless wretch,
With hunger in his eye ; For life's severest contrasts meet for ever in the city-street !
And lofty, princely palaces —
What dreary deeds of woe, What untold, mortal agonies
Their arras chambers know! Yet is without all smooth and fair, As heaven's blue dome of summer air!
The quiet cattle feeding
In meadows bright as gold, In pastoral vales exceeding
Their Arcady of old, Are England's, and surround me;
But far-off regions gleam In golden light around me,
And shapes as of a dream. Old realms of Indian story,
By witchery of thought, Wrapt in a hazy glory
Before my soul are brought! The Himalaya mountains,
The heavenly lands below, The Ganges' sacred fountains
Beneath the eternal snow! I see them like the vision
That fills the poet's eye, A cloudland-world elysian
Built in the sunset-sky. I see them in far ages
In primal splendour shine, Peopled by kings and sages,
Earth's oldest, proudest line. With them the great World-Giver,
As they believed, abode, And,' symbolled in their River,
Diffusing blessing, flowed. The cities which they builded
With gold were overlaid, The sceptres which they wielded
To rule the world were made.
And even the portliest citizen,
Within his doors doth hide Some household grief, some secret care,
From all the world beside : It ever was, it must be so, For human heritage is woe!
Hence is it that a city-street
Can deepest thought impart, For all its people, high and low,
Are kindred to my heart; And with a yearning love I share In all their joy, their pain, their care!
VIEW NEAR DEOBUN, AMONG THE
A SUMMER DAY-DREAM.
I sit 'mid flowery meadows,
I list the cuckoo's cry;
Athwart the green grass lie.
Runs shimmering in the sheen; And silvery aspens quiver
Along its margent green. I hear the warbling linnet;
The wild bee humming round; And every passing minute
Gives some sweet English sound. I see in green nooks pleasant
Small children at their play ; And many a cheerful peasant
That toileth all the day. "Tis English all! birds singing,
Cool shadows, flowers, and rills; And the village-bells' low ringing
Among the sleeping hills!
Earth kept no hidden treasure,
Gold, marble, or rich gem; And the water without measure
Poured out its wealth for them. Upon their silken raiment
Was set the diamond-stone; 'And kingly-given payment
Was but in gold alone. While England yet was forest,
And idol-gods adored ; While yet her wounds were sorest
Beneath the Roman sword; These kingliest of earth's children
Sate on their ivory thrones, Their golden sceptres wielding
O'er myriad-peopled zones. But the glory hath departed !
Earth's oldest, proudest born, Gold-robed, imperial-hearted,
Lie in their tombs forlorn!
And the great River's waters
Are swollen with blood, not rain And Brahma's sons and daughters Cry from the earth in vain.
Oh, Himalaya mountains,
“ And I would see, before mine eyes grow dim, Still, still ye stand unshaken;
The mountains and the Dead Sea's desert shore; Nor have the river-fountains
And I would hear the brethren's vesper-hymn
Chime to the Kedron's melody once more!
“Oh friends, the Saviour in the desert-place,
Sustained the fainting multitude with bread;
And in my mountain-cavern, with his grace
Have I, his humblest little one, been fed.
“ The voice of God, while I was yet a child,
Called me from man and from his works to part;
I left my father's house, and in the wild
Wandered three days with meek, submissive heart.
“ Upon the fourth I found an ancient man
Stretched on the rock, as if in mortal pain;
Friends, I am old, but his life's lengthened span
One-half my years had numbered o'er again.
And gazed upon me with a kindling eye ;
* Now list my missioned words, and let me die!' That gave th' unknown to Galileo's ken;
“Therewith he told a blessed history; That guided Luther's world-awakening pen; As how his father had the gardener been, Whence Milton, Hampden, Sidney, souls a-flame
Who kept the garden where the Lord did lie, With liberty and light, drew strength and aim!
And who the ascending from the tomb had seen. The same that to the great-souled Genoese,
Compass in band, and dreaming of far seas, “Of the Lord's friends on earth, how much he told, With glorious visions of the New World came ! For them he knew, or they who had them known; Oh, moral renovation, that dost shake,
Far more than any written book could hold,
That day to my enlarged mind was shown !
“ And of the Lord such living form he brought, Spirit of love, thou hast lit thy torch benign
It seemed that I beheld him in that place;
That there I saw the miracles he wrought;
I have not ceased to preach the blessed word;
For fourscore years and upwards, through the earth
Have I proclaimed glad tidings of the Lord ! “The monastery of St. Saba is in the wilderness of Ziph, and a few hours' distance from Jerusalem. A more dreary
• But in the city, 'mid the crush of men, situation cannot be conceived ; its walls, towers, and terraces, I would not ye should dig my lowly grave, are on the brink of precipices ; but could the world afford a But carry me unto the Kedron's glen, more sublime or memorable home? We sat down and gazed on the deep glen of the Kedron far beneath--the wilderness And lay me in the mountain's chapelled cave! on every side, where David fled from the pursuit of Saul; and the Dead Sea and its sublime shores full in front, illumined by « For there I laid the old man's bones in peace, the setting sun. It was founded by this saint in the middle of And there would I my earthly part should rest! the fourth century, and has ever since been a religious retreat of great fime. St. Saba died when nearly a hundred years of Carry me hence! for ere the daylight cease age. Feeling his end approach, he implored to be carried 10 I must be with the Lord, a marriage-guest !" bis beloved retreat, that his bones might rest there ; and here they have been preserved to this day."
THE GIPSY MOTHER'S SONG,
Saint Saba's hours were drawing to their close ;
The merry miller's mosy dame