O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!
Dropt from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear,
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career;
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And freedom shriek'd-as Kosciusko fell.

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there,
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air-
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow-
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below,
The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way—
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Hark, as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call:
Earth shook-red meteors flashed along the sky,
And conscious nature shuddered at the cry.

O righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword omnipotent to save,
Where was thine arm, O Vengeance where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Zion and of God?
That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar?
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host
Of blood-stained Pharoah left the trembling coast,
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow,
And heaved an ocean on their march below.

Departed spirits of the mighty dead,

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled,

Friends of the world, restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause and lead the van;

Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,

And make her arm puissant as your own.

Oh, once again to Freedom's cause return,
The patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburn.

THE DRUNKARD'S SOLILOQUY.

Campbell.

WELL, here I am just come out of the public-public (hiccup) house; I've only drank nine glasses of brandy and water, and I am as drunk as a p-p-parson. Talking of the parson, reminds me of the devil, and talking of the devil, reminds me of my wife, (hiccup) for she'll kick up a devil of a row; well, if she blows me up, why I must blow her up; no I won't, for talking of blowing up, reminds me of raising the wind; so I'll tell her that

I have been half price to the play, (hiccup) then she'll say to what part, and if I say to the boxes, she'll swear I had an intrigue or I would not have gone there; then I won't say to the boxes, I'll say to the pit, no, egad if I say to the pit, she'll wish me in the bottomless pit, and as I don't like such wit, I'll tell her I was in the gallery; aye, the gallery-the gallery, there's the rub; (hiccup) no, it is not the rub, for she'll give me a rub there, and say, I should not have gone into the gallery if I respected the pride of her family. Ha, ha, ha! if her father wasn't a tripe man, he sold cat's meat; (calling) cat's meat! cat's meat, no, no, I'll go home and tell her I'm sober, (hiccup) there's nothing like the truth and shaming the devil! I'll tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, and shame the devil, I'll tell her the truth and nothing but the truth. Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh, here's a post; what a delicate constitution I have, I really can't touch spirits: why nine glasses of brandy and water, that is nine shillings, and ten pipes, that's ten shillings and ninepence, and twopence the waiter is twelve shillings and a penny, that's right; well this small quantity of liquor has made me sick, but I defy the devil to make me drunk; I'm a complete philosopher, for when I've had enough, I always know it; and no one can beat me at calculation if I sit up till midnight, for I have always cool reason on my side, and I can (hiccup) and hollo, what the devil are you? speak, or I'll knock you down; (strikes) who are you? speak, or I'll, (hiccup) I'll, I'll, (goes up to a pump) why zounds, it's a pump, if it isn't may I be pumped upon, I've been frightened by a pump; ha, ha, well, if ever a sober man was more deceived may I be hanged; but I'll go home and go to bed, and I'll say to my wife, (hiccup) I wish I could get a drop of something for the hiccups, and she'll say, 'what's o'clock you brute?' And I'll look at my watch and I'll say, (hiccup) I can't see, and if she blows me up I'll sing-(hiccup.)

Here am I a jolly dog,

As sober as can be;

And there's my wife, a surly hog,

She won't be kind to me.

So I will sing, and dance, and drink,
Nor care a pin for sorrow;

Altho' upon my soul, I think,

My head will ache to-morrow.

THE CAPTAIN'S WHISKERS.

A CERTAIN Swiss Captain of grenadiers, whose company had been cashiered, was determined, since Mars had no more em

ployment for him, to try if he could not procure a commission in the corps of Venus; or, in other words, if he could not get a wife and as he had no money of his own, he reasoned, and reasoned very justly, it was quite necessary his intended should have enough for them both.

The Captain was one of those kind of heroes to whom the epithet hectoring blade might readily be applied: he was nearly six feet high, with a long sword, and fiercely formed hat, add to which, he was allowed to have had the most martial pair of whiskers of any grenadier in the company to which he belonged. To curl these whiskers, to comb and twist them round his forefinger, and to admire them in the glass, formed the chief occupation and delight of his life. A man of these accomplishments, with the addition of bronze and rhodomontades, of which he had a superfluity, stands at all times, and in all countries, a good chance with the ladies, as the experience of, I know not how many thousand years has confirmed. Accordingly, after a little diligent attention and artful inquiry, a young lady was found, exactly such a one as we may well suppose a person with his views would be glad to find. She was tolerably handsome, not more than three-and-twenty, with a good fortune; and, what was the best part of the story, this fortune was entirely at her own disposal.

Our Captain, who thought now or never was the time, having first found means to introduce himself as a suitor, was incessant in his endeavours to carry his cause. His tongue was eternally running in praise of her super-superlative, never-to-be-described charms; and in the hyperbolical account of the flames, darts, and daggers, by which his lungs, liver, and midriff were burnt up, transfixed, and gnawn away. He, who, in writing a song to his sweet-heart, described his heart to be without one drop of gravy like an overdone mutton chop, was a fool at a simile when compared to our hero.

One day, as he was ranting, kneeling, and beseeching his goddess to send him an errand to pluck the diamond from the nose of the great Mogul, and present it to her divinityship, or suffer him to step and steal the empress of China's enchantment slipper, or the queen of Sheba's cockatoo, as a small testimony of what he would undertake to prove his love; she, after a little hesitation, addressed him thus:

The protestations which you daily make, Captain, as well as what you say at present, convince me there is nothing you would not do to oblige me: I therefore do not find much difficulty in telling you I am willing to be yours, if you will perform one thing which I shall request you.'

Tell me, immaculate angel,' cried our son of gunpowder :

'Tell me what it is, though, before you speak, be certain it is already done. Is it to find the seal of Solomon? to catch the phoenix? to draw your chariot to church with unicorns? what is the impossible act I will not undertake?'

"No, Captain,' replied the fair one: "I shall enjoin nothing impossible. The thing I desire, you can do with the utmost ease. It will not cost you five minutes' trouble. Yet, were it not for your so positive assurances, I should, from what I have observed, almost doubt of your compliance.'

Ah, madam,' returned he, 'wrong not your slave thus, deem it impossible, that he who eats happiness, and drinks immortal life from the light of your eyes, can ever demur the thousandth part of a semi-second to secure your omnipotent behests: speak, say, what, empress of my parched entrails, what must I perform. Nay, for that matter it is a mere trifle; only cut off your whiskers, Captain, that's all.'

Madam! (Be so kind, reader, as to imagine the Captain's utter astonishment) My whiskers, cut off my whiskers! excuse me; cut off my whiskers, madam! anything else, anything that mind can, or cannot imagine, or tongue describe. Bid me fetch you Prester John's beard a hair at the time, and it's done. But, for my whiskers, you must grant me a salvo there.'

'And why so, good Captain? Surely any gentleman who had but the tythe part of the passion you express, would not stand upon such a trifle.'

A trifle, Madam? my whiskers a trifle? no madam, no! my whiskers are no trifle. Had I but a single regiment of fellows whiskered like me, I myself would be the Grand Turk of Constantinople. My whiskers, madam, are the last things I should have supposed you would have wished me to sacrifice. There is not a woman, married or single, maid, wife, or widow, that does not admire my whiskers.'

'May be so, sir; but if you marry me, you must cut them off.' 'And is there no other way? Must I never hope to be happy with you unless I part with my whiskers?'

'Never.'

'Why then, madam, farewell: I would not part with a single hair of my whiskers, if Catherine, the Czarina, empress of all the Russias, would make me king of the Calmucks; and so good morning to you.'

Had all the young ladies, in like circumstances, equal penetration, they might generally rid themselves, with equal ease, of the interested and unprincipled coxcombs by whom they are pestered. They all have their whiskers, and seek for fortunes, to be able to cultivate not cut them off.

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
STOP! for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
Is the spot marked with no colossal bust?
Nor column trophied for triumphant show?
None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so.
As the ground was before, thus let it be.-
How that red rain-hath made the harvest grow?
And is this all the world hath gain'd by thee,
Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory?

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell:-

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it!--No; 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street:

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined!

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
But, hark;-that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before!

Arm! Arm! it is!-the cannon's opening roar !

Within a window'd niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because they deem'd it near
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell:
He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?