CCCXCVI. F. S. ECKHARD.

THE RUINED CITY.

The days of old, though time has reft
The dazzling splendour which they cast;
Yet many a remnant still is left

To shadow forth the past.

The warlike deed, the classic page,
The lyric torrent, strong and free,
Are lingering o'er the gloom of age,
Like moonlight on the sea.

A thousand years have rolled along,
And blasted empires in their pride;
And witnessed scenes of crime and wrong,
Till men by nations died.

A thousand summer-suns have shone,

Till earth grew bright beneath their sway, Since thou, untenanted and lone,

Wert rendered to decay.

The moss-tuft, and the ivy-wreath,
For ages clad thy fallen mould.

And gladdened in the spring's soft breath;
But they grew wan and old.

Now, desolation hath denied

That even these shall veil thy gloom :

And Nature's mantling beauty died

In token of thy doom.

Alas, for the far years, when clad

With the bright vesture of thy prime,

Thy proud towers made each wanderer giad, Who hailed thy sunny clime.

Alas, for the fond hope and dream,

And all that won thy children's trust,
God cursed-and none may now redeem,
Pale city of the dust:

How the dim visions throng the soul,
When twilight broods upon thy waste;
The clouds of woe from o'er thee roll,
Thy glory seems replaced.

The stir of life is brightening round,
Thy structures swell upon the eye,
And mirth and revelry resound
In triumph to the sky.

But a stern moral may be read,

By those who view thy lonely gloom :
Oblivion's pall alike is spread

O'er slave and lordly tomb.

The sad, the gay, the old, the young,

The warrior's strength, and beauty's glow,
Resolved to that from which they sprung,
Compose the dust below.

CCCXCVII. H. G. BELL.

DEATH OF QUEEN MARY.

Beside the block a sullen headsman stood,

And gleam'd the broad axe in his hand, that soon must drip with blood.

With slow and steady step there came a lady through the hall,

And breathless silence chain'd the lips, and touch'd the hearts of all:

Rich were the sable robes she wore-her white veil round her fell

And from her neck there hung the cross-the cross she loved so well!

I knew that queenly form again, though blighted was its bloom

I saw that grief had decked it out-an offering for the tomb!

I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so brightly shone

I knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrilled with every tone

I knew the ringlets, almost grey, once threads of living

gold

I knew that bounding grace of step-that symmetry of mould!

E'en now I see her far away, in that calm convent aisle, I hear her chaunt her vesper-hymn, I mark her holy

smile

E'en now I see her bursting forth, upon her bridal

morn,

A new star in the firmament, to light and glory born! Alas! the change! she placed her foot upon a triple

throne,

And on the scaffold now she stands-beside the block, alone!

The little dog that licks her hands, the last of all the crowd

Who sunn'd themselves beneath her glance, and round her footsteps bow'd!

Her neck is bared-the blow is struck-the soul is pass'd away;

The bright-the beautiful-is now a bleeding piece of clay!

The dog is moaning piteously; and, as it gurgles o'er, Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded to the floor!

The blood of beauty, wealth, and power-the heartblood of a queen

The noblest of the Stuart race-the fairest earth hath

seen

Lapp'd by a dog! Go, think of it, in silence and alone; Then weigh against a grain of sand, the glories of a throne !

CCCXCVIII. BUTSON.

PATRIOTISM.

Poor is his triumph, and disgraced his name,
Who draws the sword for empire, wealth, or fame;
For him, though wealth be blown on every wind,
Though fame announce him mightiest of mankind,
Though twice ten nations crouch beneath his blade,
Virtue disowns him, and his glories fade:

For him no prayers are pour'd, no pæans sung,
No blessings chanted from a nation's tongue :
Blood marks the path to his untimely bier :
The curse of widows, and the orphan's tear,
Cry to high Heaven for vengeance on his head :
Alive detested, and accursed when dead.

Indignant of his deeds, the muse who sings
The undaunted truth, and scorns to flatter kings,
Shall show the monster in his hideous form,
And mark him as an earthquake or a storm.
Not so the patriot chief, who dared withstand
The base invader of his native land;

Who made her weal his noblest, only end:
Ruled, but to serve her: fought, but to defend ;
Who, firmly virtuous, and severely brave,
Sunk with the freedom that he could not save:
On worth like his the muse delights to wait,
Reveres alike in triumph and defeat;

Crowns with true glory, and with spotless fame,
And honours Paoli's more than Frederick's name.

1.

CCCXCIX. MORRIS.

REASONS FOR DRINKING.

There's many a lad I liked is dead,
And many a lass grown old,
And, as the lesson strikes my head,
My heavy heart grows cold.
But through the bumper's magic glare
I see these ills less plain,
And that I think's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

2. TOWN AND COUNTRY.

In town let me live, in town let me die,
For in truth I can't relish the country, not I.
If one must have a villa in summer to dwell,
O give me the sweet shady side of Pell-Mell.
But a house is much more to my taste than a tree,
And for groves-O! a good grove of chimneys for me.
CCCC. MRS GREVILLE.

ᎢᎻᎬ ᎻᎬᎪᎡᎢ .

Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,

Which, like the needle true,

Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But turning trembles too.

CCCCI. ANONYMOUS

DEATH.

Hush, idle words and thoughts of ill,
Our Lord is listening peace, be still!
Be silent o'er a Christian's death,
When from the body parts the breath,
Till in thine alter'd voice be known
Something of Resignation's tone.

CCCCII. FREDERIC LOCKER.
1. THE WORLD.

The world! Was ever jester in
A viler than the present?
Yet if it ugly be a sin,

It almost is-as pleasant!
It is a merry world (pro tem.),
And some are gay, and therefore
It pleases them--but some condemn
The fun they do not care for.

It is an ugly world. Offend

Good people-how they wrangle!
The manners that they never mend!
The characters they mangle!

They eat, and drink, and scheme, and plod,
And go to church on Sunday-

And many are afraid of God

And more of Mrs Grundy.

2. A SKULL.

A human skull! I bought it passing cheap;
It might be dearer to its first employer;

I thought mortality did well to keep

Some mute momento of the Old Destroyer.

Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin,
Here lips were wooed perchance in transport tender;
Some may have chucked what was a dimpled chin,
And never had my doubt about its gender!