I

"Away!-away-My breath was goce-
I saw not where he hurried on:
'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
And on he foam'd-away-a737!
The last of human sounds which rose,
As I was darted from my foes.

Was the wiki shout of savage laughter,
Which on the wind came roaring after
A moment from that rabble root:
With sudden wrath I wrench i my heal,
And snapp'd the cord which to the mane
Had bound my neck in lien of read,
And, writhing half my form about.
Howl'd back my curse; but 'midst the tea".
The thunder of my courser's speed,
Perchance they did not hear nor Leoi:
It vexes me-for I would fain
Have paid their insult back again.
I paid it well in after days:
There is not of that castle-gate,
Its drawbridge and portcullis weight,
Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left;
Nor of its fields a blade of grass,

Save what grows on a ridge of wall,
Where stood the hearth-stone of the ha";
And many a time ye there might pass,
Nor dream that e'er that fortress was.
I saw its turrets in a blaze,

Their crackling battlements all cleft,

And the hot lead pour down like rain From off the scorch'd and blackening roof, Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof. They little thought that day of pain, When launch'd, as on the lightning's flash, They bade me to destruction dash, That one day I should come again, With twice five thousand horse, to thank The Count for his uncourteous ride. They play'd me then a bitter prank, When, with the wild horse for my guide, und me to his foaming flank:

XX.

"She came with mother and with sire
What need of more ?-I will not tire
With long recital of the rest,
Since I became the Cossack's guest.
They found me senseless on the plain--
They bore me to the nearest hut-
They brought me into life again-
Me -one day o'er their realm to reign!
Thus the vain fool who strove to glut
His rage, refining on my pain,

Sent me forth to the wilderness,
Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,
To pass the desert to a throne,-

What mortal his own doom may guess?
Let none despond, let none despair!
To-morrow the Borysthenes

May see our coursers graze at ease
Upon his Turkish bank,-and never
Had I such welcome for a river

As I shall yield when safely there.
Comrades, good night!"-The Hetman throw
His length beneath the oak-tree shado,
With leafy couch already made,

A bed nor comfortless nor new
To him, who took his rest whene'er
The hour arrived, no matter where:
His eyes the hastening slumbers steep.
And if ye marvel Charles forgot
To thank his tale, he wondered not,-
The king had been an hour asleep.

MISCELLANEOUS.

EPITAPH ON JOHN ADAMS, OF SOUTHWELL.

A CARRIER, WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS.

JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell,
A Carrier who carried his can to his mouth well:
He carried so much, and he carried so fast,
He could carry no more-so was carried at last;
For, the liquor he drank, being too much for one,
He could not carry off,-
-so he's now carri-on.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
"Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel :
I only know we loved in vain—

I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell!

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

WHEN We two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well :—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?—

With silence and tears.

TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND.

FEW years have pass'd since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity

Preserved our feelings long the same.

But now, like me, too well thou know'st
What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they loved at all.

And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign,
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.

If so, it never shall be mine

To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art.