TEMPTATION.

BY THE REV. THOMAS DALE.

I.

CEASE, Tempter, cease! I would not live

The scorned of earth, the loathed of heaven,

For all that Cæsar's hand hath given,

For all that Rome could give.

Since, how could pomp and power

Avail to banish from mine eye

and pride

The Cross for which I vowed to die

The Cross I had denied ;

Or teach me, though my limbs be free,

To bear the spirit's slavery?

II.

Yet to mine eye, mid darkness dim,

How welcome were the light of heaven!

How sweet to feel the chains were riven

That bind each aching limb!

How sweet, unshackled all and free

To feel once more the light breeze blow;

X

To gaze around, above, below,
On earth, and sky, and sea!

O, pomp and pride are nought to me ;
But my soul yearns for liberty!

III.

And wilt thou give the summer gale
A moment through my cell to play—
And wilt thou give the summer ray
That gilds my native vale,
To glad me with its vernal beam-
And dost thou this in mercy?—No.
I see the guile that lurks below ;—
And vainly dost thou dream

That I would quit my hopes on high,

And barter heaven for liberty.

IV.

Cease then! my heart is changeless still ;Though chains awhile my limbs control,

Mine is the freedom of the soul,

And mine the' unconquered will;

And thou art more a slave than I.—

I can but bear a despot's yoke,

Till death shall rend with welcome shock,

The spirit's earthly tie.

Then, false one! then, when I am free

Begins thine endless slavery!

THE DREAM OF PETICIUS.

BY MARY HOWITT.

I.

STILL lay the vessel like a sleeping thing;
The calm waves with a quiet ripple died;
The lazy breeze seemed all too faint to bring
The cry of sea-birds dipping in the tide ;
The flagging streamer droopingly did cling
Unto the mast. The unruffled ocean wide
Lay like a mirror, in whose depth were seen
Each sunlit peak, and woody headland green.

II.

More than a league they had not sailed that day;
Yet on the coast was seen each sleeping hill;
And islands, that at noon before them lay,
In the calm evening lay before them still.

The wearied seamen sped the time away

With snatches of blithe song or whistle shrill;

And in a group apart, the people told

Wild tales, and dreams, and dark traditions old.

III.

The captain was a thoughtful man, whose prime
Had been in foreign lands and voyage spent ;
Who brought back marvellous history from each clime,
And found adventure wheresoe'er he went.

And, as such men are wont in idle time,
He from his life drew pleasant incident;
Then, as if woke to thought, began to say
What a strange dream he had ere break of day.

IV.

""Twas while our vessel scudding to the breeze,
Fled, like a strong bird, from yon pleasant shore,
My dream was of these bright and stirless seas,
The flagging canvas, and the useless oar;

I saw, as now I see, in slumbrous ease

Green Pelion's head, and those dim mountains hoar

Resting afar; I saw yon glancing bird;

And the low rippling of these waves I heard.

V.

"While then I stood, as even now I stand,

My eye upon the stilly ocean bent,

I saw a boat push quickly from the land,
And eager rowers with a firm intent
Make towards the ship. Within, a little band
Sate in mute sadness, as by travel spent ;

And 'mid them one, superior to the rest,
Pale, as his soul by heavier thought was prest.

VI.

They neared,—and marvelling yet more and more, I saw 'twas Pompey; not as I beheld

Him in the senate, when he stood before

Fierce Sylla, and with taunts his wrath repelled, Till the Dictator quaked; or when he bore In triumph, trophies from ten nations quelled, Ardent and bold, whom myriads as he went Hailed as immortal and magnificent.

VII.

"Not now as then-pale, thoughtful, ill at rest, His fate seemed warring with his mighty will; His hand on his contracted brow was prest,

As it the force of throbbing thought could still; Anon he wrapped his mantle o'er his breast

With a calm hand, as nerved for coming ill, Then with a calm, majestic air arose,

And claimed protection from his following foes."

VIII.

Even while some pondering sate with thoughtful air,
And some made merry with so strange a tale,
All eyes were turned in sudden wonder where

White o'er the waters gleamed a little sail ;—
On through the calm the striving pinnace bare ;—
Then sorrow woke, and firmest brows grew pale,
For worn and wearied, Pompey they behold,
Even as that prophetic dream foretold.