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Night is the time for care ;

Brooding on hours mis-spent,
To see the spectre of Despair

Come to our lonely tent;
Like Brutus midst his slumbering host
Startled by Cæsar's stalwart ghost.

Night is the time to muse;

Then from the eye the soul
Takes flight, and with expanding views,

Beyond the starry pole ;
Descries, athwart the abyss of night,
The dawn of uncreated light.

Night is the time to pray ;

Our Saviour oft withdrew
To desert mountains far away ;

So will his follower do ;
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,
And hold communion there with God.

Night is the time for death ;

When all around is peace,
Calmly to yield the weary breath,

From sin and suffering cease,
Think of heaven's bliss and give the sign

To parting friends. Such death be mine!
Ackermann's 'Forget Me Not.'

FROM THE ARABIC.

THE morn that ushered thee to life, my child,
Saw thee in tears, whilst all around thee smiled!
When summoned henee to thy eternal sleep,
Oh may'st thou smile, whilst all around thee weep.

E.

ODE,

BY LORD BYRON.

Oh, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul !

Oh, shame to thy children and thee! Unwise in thy glory and base in thy fall,

How wretched thy portion shall be !
Derision shall strike thee forlorn,

A mockery that never shall die;
The curses of Hate and the hisses of Scorn

Shall burthen the winds of thy sky;
And proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurled
The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the World.

Oh, where is thy spirit of yore,

The spirit that breathed in thy dead, When gallantry's star was the beacon before

And honour the passion that led ! Thy storms have awakened their sleep ;

They groan from the place of their rest, And wrathfully murmur, and sullenly weep,

To see the foul stain on thy breast; For where is the glory they left thee in trust ? 'Tis scattered in darkness. 'Tis trampled in dust !

Go look through the kingdoms of earth,

From Indus all round to the Pole, And something of goodness, of honour, and worth,

Shall brighten the sins of the soul; But thou art alone in thy shame!

The world cannot liken thee there; Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thy name

Beyond the low reach of compare ; Stupendous in guilt, thou shalt lend us, through time, A proverb, a bye-word, for treachery and crime.

While conquest illumined his sword,

While yet in his prowess he stood,

Thy praises still followed the steps of thy Lord,

And welcomed the torrent of blood;
Though tyranny sat on his crown,

And withered the nations afar,
Yet bright in thy view was that Despot's renown,

Till Fortune deserted his car;
Then, back from the Chieftain thou slunkest away-
The foremost to insult, the first to betray.

Forgot were the feats he had done,

The toils he had borne in thy cause ; Thou turnedst to worship a new rising sun,

And to waft other songs of applause;
But the storm was beginning to lour,

Adversity clouded his beam ;
Then honour and faith were the boast of an hour,

And loyalty's self but a dream;
To him thou hadst banished thy vows were restored,
And the first that had scoffed, were the first that adored.

What tumult thus burthens the air !

What throng thus encircles his throne ? 'Tis the shout of delight ;—'tis the millions that swear

His sceptre shall rule them alone.
Reverses shall brighten their zeal;

Misfortune shall hallow his name;
And the world that pursues him shall mournfully feel

How quenchless the spirit and flame
That Frenchmen will breathe when their hearts are on fire,
For the Hero they love, and the Chief they admire.

Their hero has rushed to the field,

His laurels are covered with shade,
But where is the spirit that never should yield,

The loyalty never to fade !
In a moment desertion and guile

Abandoned him up to the foe;
The dastards that flourished and grew in his smile,

Forsook and renounced him in woe;

And the millions that swore they would perish to save,
Behold him a fugitive, captive, and slave.

The savage, all wild in his glen,

Is nobler and better than thou !
Thou standest a wonder, a marvel to men !

Such perfidy blackens thy brow.
If thou wert the place of my birth,

At once from thy arms would I sever ;
I'd fly to the uttermost ends of the earth,

And quit thee for ever and ever ;
And thinking of thee in my long after-years,
Should but kindle my blushes and waken my tears.

Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul!

Oh, shame to thy children and thee !
Unwise in thy glory and base in thy fall,

How wretched thy portion shall be !
Derision shall strike thee forlorn,

A mockery that never shall die :
The curses of Hate and the hisses of Scorn

Shall burthen the winds of thy sky ;
And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurled

The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the World.
Examiner.

A FRAGMENT.

Do any thing but love; or, if thou lovest,
And art a Woman, hide thy love from him
Whom thou dost worship ; never let him know
How dear he is; flit like a bird before him,
Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower ;
But be not won, or thou wilt, like that bird
When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected,

And perish in forgetfulness.
Literary Gazette.

L. E. L.

THE PARTING.

BY THE REV. G. CROLY.

THE wind was wild, the sea was dark,
The lightning flashed above ;—the bark
That anchored in the rocky bay,
Bathed its top pennon in the spray ;
Hollow and gloomy as the grave,
Rolled to the shore the mighty wave;
Then gathering wild, with thundering sweep,
Flashed its white foam-sheet up the steep :-
The sight was terror-but behind
Shouts of pursuit were on the wind;
Trumpet, and yell, and clash of shield,
Told where the human hunters wheeled
Through the last valley's forest glen :
Where, Bertha, was thy courage then ?
She cheered her warrior, though his side
Still with the gushing blood was dyed ;
Up the rude mountain-path, her hand
Sustained his arm, and dragged his brand,
Nor shrank, nor sighed; and when his tread
Paused on the promontory's head,
She smiled, although her lip was pale
As the torn silver of his mail.

All there was still. The shouts had past,
Sunk in the rushings of the blast ;
Below, the vapour's dark grey screen,
Shut out from view the long ravine;
Then swept the circle of the hill,
Like billows round an ocean isle.
The

rays the parting sunbeam flung,
In white, cold radiance on them hung;
They stood upon that lonely brow,
Like spirits loosed from human woe,
And pausing, ere they spread the plume
Above that waste of storm and gloom.

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