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THE COLISEUM AT ROME.

Here wave patrician robes, there bright eyes beam,
Shine everywhere barbaric pearls and gold.

Hark! 'tis the trumpet blast, yon wretch behold,

Torn by a pard a mangled corpse he lies;

Now slow advance two Gauls of giant mould,

They front, strike, bleed, one sinks no more to rise;
Pleased beauty waves her hand, and plaudits rend the skies.

Such was the Circus-what doth now appear,
Gray, mouldering ruins, silent and forlorn;
Victor and vanquished, all who gathered here
Have passed away as if they ne'er were born.
Round porphyry pillars grows the shaggy thorn;
Through marble walks the sly fox slowly creeps;
The night winds moan through arches rent and worn ;
Fame at oblivion's progress sits and weeps,
While over all, his watch stern Ruin grimly keeps.

Man! thus thy proud creations melt away!

Child of the dust, how humble should'st thou be!
On all thine art achieves is stamped decay,
Cities and empires passing e'en like thee:
Nought save the rolling ocean, wild and free,

Nought save the mountains pillaring the sky,

Nought save the worlds our rapt eyes nightly see,

Remain unchanged as ages wander by,

And smile o'er time's dark wrecks, and ruin's self defy.

MICHELL

E hath reached a mountain hung with vine,
And woods that wave o'er the lovely Rhine;
The feudal towers that crest its height

Frown in unconquerable might;
Dark is their aspect of sullen hate,

No helmet hangs o'er the massy gate

To bid the wearied pilgrim rest,
At the chieftain's board a welcome guest;
Vainly rich evening's parting smile

Would chase the gloom of the haughty pile,
That 'midst bright sunshine lowers on high,
Like a thunder-cloud in a summer sky.
Not these the halls where a child of song

Awhile may speed the hours along ;
Their echoes should repeat alone

The tyrant's mandate, the prisoner's moan,
Or the wild huntsman's bugle blast,
When his phantom-train are hurrying past.
The weary minstrel paused-his eye
Roved o'er the scene despondingly ;
Within the lengthening shadow, cast
By the fortress, towers and ramparts vast,
Lingering he gazed-the rocks around
Sublime in savage grandeur frowned;
Proud guardian of the regal flood,
In giant strength the mountain stood;
By torrents cleft, by tempests riven,

Yet mingling still with the calm blue heaven.
The heights were bright with a sunny glow,
But the stream all shadowy rolled below;

In purple tints the vineyard smiled,

But the woods beyond waved dark and wild;

Nor pastoral pipe, nor convent's bell

Was heard on the sighing breeze to swell;

But all was lonely, silent, rude,

A stern yet glorious solitude.

MRS. HEMANS.