But when hot youth's and manhood's pulses cool'd,
When pensive thought my failing spirit school'd,—
Lured by a vision which, where'er I rove,

Still haunts me with the blush of earliest love-
A vision, present still, by night, by day,
Which not Niagara's roar could chase away-
I left my palace, with its roof of sky,

To look again on Hannah's face, and die.

I saw, in thought, beyond the billow's roar,
My mother's grave-and then my tears ran o'er:
And then I wept for Hannah, wrong'd, yet true;
I could not-no-my wasted life renew;
But I could wiselier spend my wiser years,
And mix a smile with sinking vigour's tears.

Sweet Village! where my early days were pass'd!
Though parted long, we meet-we meet at last!
Like friends, embrown'd by many a sun and wind,
Much changed in mien, but more in heart and mind.
Fair, after many years, thy fields appear

With joy beheld, but not without a tear.
I met thy little river miles before

I saw again my natal cottage door;

Unchanged as Truth, the river welcomed home
The wanderer of the sea's heart-breaking foam;
But the changed cottage, like a time-tried friend,
Smote on my heart-strings, at my journey's end.
For now no lilies bloom the door beside;
The very houseleek on the roof hath died;
The window'd gable's ivy-bower is gone,
The rose departed from the porch of stone;
The pink, the violet, have fled away,

The polyanthus and auricula!

And round my home, once bright with flowers, I found, Not one square yard,-one foot of garden ground.

CONSEQUENCES OF THE CORN LAWS.

What shall bread-tax yet for thee,
Palaced pauper? We shall see.
It shall tame thee, and thy heirs,
Beggar them, and beggar theirs,
Melt thy plate, for which we paid,
Buy ye breeches ready made,
Sell my lady's tax-bought gown,
And the lands thou call'st thine own.

Then of courses five or more,
Grapery, horse-race, coach and four,
Pamper'd fox-hounds, starving men,
Whores and bastards, nine or ten,
Twenty flunkies fat and gay,
Whip and jail for holiday,
Paid informer, poacher pale,
Sneaker's license, poison'd ale,
Seat in senate, seat on bench,
Pension'd lad, or wife, or wench,
Fiddling parson, Sunday card,
Pimp, and dedicating bard,-
On the broad and bare highway,
Toiling there for groat a day,
We will talk to thee and thine,
Till thy wretches envy mine,
Till thy paunch of baseness howl,
Till thou seem to have a soul.

Peer, too just, too proud to share
Millions wrung from toil and care!
Righteous peer, whose fathers fed
England's poor with untax'd bread!
Ancient peer, whose stainless name
Ages old have given to fame!-
What shall bread-tax do for thee?
Make thee poor as mine and me:
Drive thee from thy marble halls
To some hovel's squalid walls;
Drive thee from the land of crimes,
Houseless into foreign climes,
There to sicken, there to sigh,
Steep thy soul in tears, and die-
Like a flower from summer's glow,
Withering on the polar snow.

From Corn Law Rhymes.

SONG.

Where the poor cease to pay,

Go, loved one, and rest!

Thou art wearing away

To the land of the blest.

Our father is gone

Where the wrong'd are forgiven,

And that dearest one,

Thy husband, in heaven.

No toil in despair,

No tyrant, no slave, No bread-tax is there,

With a maw like the grave.
But the poacher, thy pride,
Whelm'd in ocean afar;
And his brother who died
Land-butcher'd in war;

And their mother, who sank
Broken-hearted to rest;
And the baby, that drank
'Till it froze on her breast;
With tears, and with smiles,
Are waiting for thee,
In the beautiful isles,

Where the wrong'd are the free.

Go, loved one, and rest

Where the poor cease to pay!
To the land of the blest
Thou art wearing away.
But the son of thy pain
Will yet stay with me,
And poor little Jane
Look sadly like thee.

From Corn Law Rhymes.

THIS eminent divine and poet, who combined so beautifully in his character, the single-heartedness and pity of an apostle with the endowments and elegance of an accomplished scholar, was born at Malpas, in Cheshire, on the 21st of April, 1783. In 1800, he was admitted of Brazen Nose College, Oxford; and previously to receiving a fellowship in All Souls, he went abroad and travelled through Germany, Russia, and the Crimea, when he was little more than seventeen years old. In 1801 he gained the Chancellor's prize for Latin poetry, and two years afterwards the prize in English verse, by his poem of Palestine. This admirable production, unlike the usual prize poems of our Universities, which are first admired and then forgotten in a few weeks, attained a popula rity which still continues unimpaired.

Having been presented to the rectory of Hodnett, in Shropshire, Heber continued for several years to labour faithfully in the discharge of his sacred duties, and during this interval he published, in 1812, a small volume of Poems and Translations, which was favourably received by the public. Three years afterwards, on being chosen to deliver the Bampton Lectures, he discharged that duty so ably, as to add greatly to the high literary reputation which he had already acquired. He was nominated to the important office of preacher at Lincoln's Inn in 1822; but shortly after, on being elected to the vacant Bishopric of Calcutta, he resolved to devote himself to the Missionary labours which that exalted but perilous station would entail upon him. He accordingly embarked for India in 1823, and on arriving at his distant diocese, he commenced the arduous duties of Episcopal Visitation among the different Presidencies. But the wasting effects of the climate, added to such unintermitting toil, produced their anticipated close, and this truly zealous apostle entered into his rest on the 3d of April, 1826, in the forty-third year of his age. Even the excellence of his poetry, great although it was, was partially sunk in the beauty of his personal character, the devotedness of his clerical labours, and the martyrdom by which they were crowned so that he was more thought of and beloved as the good bishop, than the accomplished poet and scholar. But wherever the English language is known, his beautiful hymns are cherished, not only for their surpassing poetical merits, but that pure spirit of devotion of which they are the

utterance.

THE WIDOW OF NAIN AND HER SON.

Wake not, O mother, sounds of lamentation!
Weep not, O widow, weep not hopelessly!
Strong is His arm, the Bringer of Salvation,
Strong is the Word of God to succour thee!
Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him,
Hide his pale features with the sable pall:
Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him:
Widow'd and childless, she has lost her all!

Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping?
Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delay'd?

"Set down the bier--he is not dead, but sleeping: Young man, arise!"-He spake, and was obey'd!

Change then, O sad one! grief to exultation;

Worship and fall before Messiah's knee;

Strong

was His arm, the Bringer of Salvation; Strong was the Word of God to succour thee!

MISSIONARY HYMN.

From Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand
Where Afric's sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand;
From many an ancient river,
From many a balmy plain,
They call us to deliver

Their land from Error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft on Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness,
The gifts of God are strown,
The heathen, in his blindness,

Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to man benighted
The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! oh, salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation

Has learnt Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, his story!
And you, ye waters, roll
Till, like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole!
Till o'er our ransom'd nature,
The Lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign.

CHRISTMAS HYMN.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid!