poem caused a great sensation in the University, and was the occasion of his being brought prominently into notice. He appeared as a poet again in 1809, when he published "Europe." Having been educated for the Church, Heber obtained the living of Hodnet, where he devoted himself to the duties of his charge with great zeal and success; at the same time he married Amelia Shipley, daughter of the Dean of St Asaph. His leisure time was constantly engaged in literary work; and during this period he wrote many of those beautiful hymns which must ever be connected with his name. In 1823 he was appointed Bishop of Calcutta, and he entered on his work of supervision with great zeal and prudence. His whole mind seemed to have been occupied with how best to advance Christianity in the East. In one of his tours he was taken ill at Trichinopoly, and died very suddenly on 3d April 1826, universally lamented.

FROM "PALESTINE."

YET still destruction sweeps the lonely plain,
And heroes lift the generous sword in vain.
Still o'er her sky the clouds of anger roll,
And God's revenge hangs heavy on her soul.
Yet shall she rise ;-but not by war restored,
Not built in murder,-planted by the sword;
Yes! Salem, thou shalt rise; thy Father's aid
Shall heal the wound His chastening hand has made;
Shall judge the proud oppressor's ruthless
sway,
And burst his brazen bonds, and cast his cords away.
Then on your tops shall deathless verdure spring,
Break forth, ye mountains, and ye valleys, sing!
No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn,
The unbeliever's jest, the heathen's scorn;
The sultry sands shall tenfold harvest yield,
And a new Eden deck the thorny field.
E'en now, perchance, wide-waving o'er the land,
That mighty Angel lifts his golden wand,
Courts the bright vision of descending power,
Tells every gate, and measures every tower;
And chides the tardy seals that yet detain
Thy Lion, Judah, from His destined reign.

And who is He? the vast, the awful form,
Girt with the whirlwind, sandall'd with the storm;
A western cloud around His limbs is spread,
His crown a rainbow, and a sun His head.
To highest heaven He lifts His kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land;
And, hark! His voice amid the thunder's roar,
His dreadful voice, that Time shall be no more!

Lo! cherub hands the golden courts prepare, Lo! thrones arise, and every saint is there; Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway, The mountains worship, and the isles obey; Nor sun nor moon they need,-nor day, nor night?— God is their temple, and the Lamb their light: And shall not Israel's sons exulting come, Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home? On David's throne shall David's offspring reign, And the dry bones be warm with life again. Hark! white-robed crowds their deep hosannas raise, And the hoarse flood repeats the sound of praise; Ten thousand harps attune the mystic song, Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolong; "Worthy the Lamb! omnipotent to save, Who died, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!"

THE COMING OF CHRIST.

THE Lord shall come! the earth shall quake,
The hills their fixed seat forsake;

And, withering from the vault of night,
The stars shall pale their feeble light.

The Lord shall come! but not the same
As once in lonely guise He came,
A silent Lamb before His foes,
A weary man, and full of woes.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With rainbow wreath and robes of storm,
On cherub wings and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of human kind!

Can this be He who wont to stray
A pilgrim on the world's highway;
Oppress'd by Power and mock'd by Pride!
O God! is this The Crucified?

Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain!
And seek the mountain's shade in vain!
But Faith, ascending from the tomb,
Shall shouting sing "The Lord is come!"

verses.

Leigh Hunt.

Born 1784.

Died 1859.

WAS born in Southgate, Middlesex, 19th October 1784. His father was a clergyman of the Church of England, who was enabled to give his son a good education. So early as his sixteenth year he wrote and published In 1805 he connected himself with a newspaper, and was so unfortunate as to be prosecuted for a libel on the Prince Regent. He was sentenced to two years' imprisonment, which was relieved somewhat by the kind attentions of his friends, among whom were Moore and Byron. He also adorned his room with busts and flowers, and in a small corner of the yard contrived to cultivate flowers and young fruit trees. On leaving prison he published the story of "Rimini" in verse, and also two volumes of miscellaneous poetry. In 1842 he published a drama, a "Legend of Florence." He was also a writer of biography and a novelist. Mr Hunt obtained in 1847 a pension of L.200 a-year from Government, which he enjoyed till his death in 1859.

JAFFAR.

JAFFAR, the Barmecide, the good Vizier,
The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer,
Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust;
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust,
Of what the good and ev'n the bad might say,
Ordained that no man living, from that day,
Should dare to speak his name on pain of death;
All Araby and Persia held their breath.

All but the brave Mondeer-he, proud to show
How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And facing death for very scorn and grief,
(For his great heart wanted a great relief,)
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily on the square,
Where once had stood a happy house; and there
Harangued the tremblers at the scymetar
On all they owed to the divine Jaffàr.

"Bring me this man," the Caliph cried; the man
Was brought was gazed upon; the mutes began
To bind his arms. 66 Welcome, brave cords," cried he;
"From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me;

From wants, from shames, from loveless household fears;
Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;
Restored me-loved me-put me on a par,
With his great self; how can I pay Jaffar?"

Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this,
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss,
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate
Might smile upon another half as great.

He said, "Let worth grow frenzied if it will,
The Caliph's judgment shall be master still,
Go! and since gifts thus move thee, take this gem,
The richest in the Tartar's diadem,

And hold the giver as thou deemest fit."

"Gifts!" cried the friend. He took, and holding it
High tow'rds the heavens, as though to meet his star,
Exclaimed, “This too I owe to thee, Jaffar!"

Bernard Barton.

Born 1784.

Died 1849.

THE QUAKER POET was born near London, in 1784. He was employed for most part of his life as clerk in a banking-house in Woodbridge. Barton's first poems were published in 1811, and various other volumes followed, they are characterised by much simplicity and purity of style, but have never been very popular. In his later days he obtained a pension of L.100 a-year from government. He died at Woodbridge, in February 1849.

POWER AND GENTLENESS.

NOBLE the mountain-stream,

Bursting in grandeur from its vantage-ground;
Glory is in its gleam

Of brightness-thunder in its deafening sound!

Mark, how its foamy spray,

Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes,
Mimics the bow of day

Arching in majesty the vaulted skies;

Thence, in a summer-shower,

Steeping the rocks around-O! tell me where
Could majesty and power

Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair?

Yet lovelier, in my view,
The streamlet flowing silently serene;
Traced by the brighter hue,

And livelier growth it gives-itself unseen!

It flows through flowery meads,

Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse;
Its quiet beauty feeds

The alders that o'ershade it with their boughs.

Gently it murmurs by

The village churchyard: its low, plaintive tone,
A dirge-like melody,

For worth and beauty modest as its own.

More gaily now it sweeps

By the small school-house in the sunshine bright;
And o'er the pebbles leaps,

Like happy hearts by holiday made light.

May not its course express,

In characters which they who run may read,
The charms of Gentleness,

Were but its still small voice allowed to plead ?
What are the trophies gained

By Power, alone, with all its noise and strife,
To that meek wreath, unstained,
Won by the charities that gladden life?
Niagara's streams might fail,

And human happiness be undisturbed:

But Egypt would turn pale,

Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curbed!

Allan Cunningham.

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Born 1784.

Died 1842.

WAS born at Blackwood, near Dalswinton, in Dumfriesshire, 7th December 1784. His father was a gardener, and Allan had few advantages in the way of education. Allan was apprenticed to his uncle, a builder, but he ultimately abandoned this business, and became a clerk of works to Sir F. Chantrey, in London. In his leisure moments he wrote his Scottish songs, which were published from time to time, and which have made his name eminent among his countrymen. He is also well known as the editor of the "Collected Edition of Burns' Works," to which he prefixed a very interesting Life of Burns. His last work was a "Life of Sir David Wilkie." He died 29th October

1842.

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;