IX.

We pant, we thirst for fountains That gush not here below; On, on we toil, allured by dreams

Of the living water's flow:

X.

We pine for kindred natures,
To mingle with our own;

For communings more full and high

Than aught by mortal known:

XI.

We strive with brief aspirings
Against our bounds in vain ;

Yet summoned to be free at last,

We shrink-and clasp our chain!

XII.

And fearfully and mournfully

We bid the earth farewell,

Tho' passing from its mists, like thee,

In a brighter world to dwell.

THE CURTIUS AND THE RUSSELL.

BY BERNARD BARTON, ESQ.

I.

IN the proud Forum's central space
Earth yawned,-a gulf profound!
And there, with awe on every face,
Rome's bravest gathered round;
Each seeming, yet, with startled ear,
THE ORACLE's dread voice to hear.

II.

Young CURTIUS on his war-horse sprung,
'Mid plaudits deep-not loud,
For admiration checked each tongue

In all the circling crowd:

He gave his noble steed the rein!

Earth's closing gulf entombed the twain!

III.

Grant that the deed, if ever done,

Was chivalrous, and bold;

A loftier, and a nobler one

OUR history can unfold:

Nor shall our Heroine, meekly calm, To Rome's proud Hero yield the palm.

IV.

THE RUSSELL stood beside her lord
When evil tongues were rife;
And perjury, with voice abhorred,
Assailed his fame and life :-

She stood there in the darkest hour
Of Tyranny's, and Faction's power.

V.

No stern oracular behest

Her gentle courage gave;
No plaudits-uttered, or supprest,
Could she expect or crave;

DUTY, alone, her Delphic shrine,

The only praise she sought DIVINE!

VI.

She sate at Guilt's tribunal bar

In Virtue's noblest guise;

Like a sweet, brightly shining star

In night's o'erclouded skies :

Still, in that scene of hopeless strife,

Southampton's daughter, Russell's wife!

VII.

Fearless in love, in goodness great,

She rose-her lord to aid;

And well might he entrust his fate
To one so undismayed,

Asking, with fond and grateful pride,
No help but that her love supplied.

VIII.

Her's was no briefly-daring mood,
Spent on one fearful deed!

The gentle courage of the good

More lasting worth can plead ;

And her's made bright in after years
The mother's toils, the widow's tears.

IX.

Woman of meek, yet fearless soul !
Thy memory aye shall live ;
Nor soon shall history's varied scroll
A name more glorious give :-
What English heart but feels its claim
Far, far beyond the Roman's fame ?

LOVE.

BY JOHN MALCOLM, ESQ.

I.

WHEN tranced in Beauty's witching smile,

That sweetly soothes but to betray,

Let not the soft enchantment wile

Thy heart away.

II.

For love is oft a fatal spell—

A garland of the cypress tree,

Or weeping willow-wreath may well

III.

Its emblem be.

An April day of sun and shower,

The glow-the chill of hopes and fears;

An ague of the heart-a flower

That blooms in tears.