Napoleon at Rest.-J. PIERPONT.

His falchion flashed along the Nile,
His host he led through Alpine snows;
O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while,
His eagle-flag unrolled-and froze!

Here sleeps he now, alone!—not one,
Of all the kings whose crowns he gave,
Bends o'er his dust; nor wife nor son
Has ever seen or sought his grave.

Behind the sea-girt rock, the star
That led him on from crown to crown

Has sunk, and nations from afar

Gazed as it faded and went down.

High is his tomb: the ocean flood,
Far, far below, by storms is curled-
As round him heaved, while high he stood,
A stormy and unstable world.

Alone he sleeps: the mountain cloud,

That night hangs round him, and the breath

Of morning scatters, is the shroud

That wraps the conqueror's clay in death.

Pause here! The far off world at last

Breathes free; the hand that shook its thrones,

And to the earth its mitres cast,

Lies powerless now beneath these stones.

Hark! Comes there from the pyramids,

And from Siberian wastes of snow,

And Europe's hills, a voice that bids

The world be awed to mourn him?-No!

The only, the perpetual dirge

That's heard here is the sea-bird's cry

The mournful murmur of the surge,

The clouds' deep voice, the wind's low sigh.

The Death of Napoleon.-I. MCLELLAN, JUN.

"The fifth of May came amid wind and rain. Napoleon's passing spirit was deliriously engaged in a strife more terrible than the elements around. The words 'tête d'armée,' (head of the army,) the last which escaped from his lips, intimated that his thoughts were watching the current of a heady fight. About eleven minutes before six in the evening, Napoleon expired." -Scott's Life of Napoleon.

WILD was the night; yet a wilder night
Hung round the soldier's pillow;
In his bosom there waged a fiercer fight
Than the fight on the wrathful billow.

A few fond mourners were kneeling by,
The few that his stern heart cherished;
They knew, by his glazed and unearthly eye,
That life had nearly perished.

They knew by his awful and kingly look,

By the order hastily spoken,

That he dreamed of days when the nations shook,
And the nations' hosts were broken.

He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew,
And triumphed the Frenchman's' eagle;'

And the struggling Austrian fled anew,
Like the hare before the beagle.

The bearded Russian he scourged again,
The Prussian's camp was routed,
And again, on the hills of haughty Spain,
His mighty armies shouted.

Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows,
At the pyramids, at the mountain,

Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows,
And by the Italian fountain,

On the snowy cliffs, where mountain-streams
Dash by the Switzer's dwelling,

He led again, in his dying dreams,

His hosts, the broad earth quelling.

Again Marengo's field was won,
And Jena's bloody battle;
Again the world was overrun,

Made pale at his cannons' rattle.

He died at the close of that darksome day,
A day that shall live in story:
In the rocky land they placed his clay,
And left him alone with his glory.'

Jerusalem.-BRAINARD.

"A severe earthquake is said to have taken place at Jerusalem, which has destroyed great part of that city, shaken down the Mosque of Omar, and reduced the Holy Sepulchre to ruins from top to bottom."-New York Mercantile Advertiser.

FOUR lamps were burning o'er two mighty graves-
Godfrey's and Baldwin's-Salem's Christian kings-
And holy light glanced from Helena's naves,

Fed with the incense which the pilgrim brings,-
While through the panelled roof the cedar flings
Its sainted arms o'er choir, and roof, and dome,
And every porphyry-pillared cloister rings
To every kneeler there its "welcome home,"

As every lip breathes out, " O Lord, thy kingdom come."

A mosque was garnished with its crescent moons,
And a clear voice called Mussulmans to prayer.
There were the splendors of Judea's thrones-

There were the trophies which its conquerors wear-
All but the truth, the holy truth, was there :-

For there, with lip profane, the crier stood,

And him from the tall minaret you might hear, Singing to all, whose steps had thither trod,

That verse, misunderstood, "There is no God but God."

Hark! did the pilgrim tremble as he kneeled?
And did the turbaned Turk his sins confess?

Those mighty hands, the elements that wield,
That mighty power, that knows to curse or bless,
Is over all; and in whatever dress

His suppliants crowd around him, He can see
Their heart, in city or in wilderness,
And probe its core, and make its blindness see
That He is very God, the only Deity.

There was an earthquake once, that rent thy fane,
Proud Julian; when (against the prophecy
Of Him who lived, and died, and rose again,
"That one stone on another should not lie,")
Thou would'st rebuild that Jewish masonry,
To mock the eternal word.-The earth below

Gushed out in fire; and from the brazen sky,
And from the boiling seas, such wrath did flow,
As saw not Shinar's plain, nor Babel's overthrow.

Another earthquake comes. Dome, roof and wall
Tremble; and headlong to the grassy bank,
And in the muddied stream, the fragments fall,
While the rent chasm spread its jaws, and drank,
At one huge draught, the sediment, which sank
In Salem's drained goblet. Mighty Power!

Thou whom we all should worship, praise, and thank,
Where was thy mercy in that awful hour,

When hell moved from beneath, and thine own heaven did lower?

Say, Pilate's palaces-say, proud Herod's towers-
Say, gate of Bethlehem-did your arches quake?
Thy pool, Bethesda, was it filled with showers?
Calm Gihon, did the jar thy waters wake?
Tomb of thee, Mary-Virgin--did it shake?
Glowed thy bought field, Aceldema, with blood?
Where were the shudderings Calvary might make?
Did sainted Mount Moriah send a flood,

To wash away the spot where once a God had stood?

Lost Salem of the Jews-great sepulchre

Of all profane and of all holy things

Where Jew, and Turk, and Gentile yet concur

To make thee what thou art! thy history brings
Thoughts mixed of joy and wo. The whole earth rings

With the sad truth which He has prophesied,

Who would have sheltered with his holy wings Thee and thy children. You his power defied:

You scourged him while he lived, and mocked him as he died!

There is a star in the untroubled sky,

That caught the first light which its Maker made-It led the hymn of other orbs on high;

"Twill shine when all the fires of heaven shall fade. Pilgrims at Salem's porch, be that your aid! For it has kept its watch on Palestine !

Look to its holy light, nor be dismayed,

Though broken is each consecrated shrine,

Though crushed and ruined all-which men have called divine.

NOTE.-Godfrey and Baldwin were the first Christian kings at Jerusalem. The empress Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, built the church of the sepulchre on Mount Calvary. The walls are of stone, and the roof of cedar. The four lamps which light it are very costly. It is kept in repair by the offerings of pilgrims who resort to it. The mosque was originally a Jewish temple. The emperor Julian undertook to rebuild the temple of Jerusalem at very great expense, to disprove the prophecy of our Savior, as it was understood by the Jews; but the work and the workmen were destroyed by an earthquake. The pools of Bethesda and Gihon-the tomb of the Virgin Mary, and of king Jehoshaphat-the pillar of Absalom-the tomb of Zachariah-and the campo santo, or holy field, which is supposed to have been purchased with the price of Judas' treason-are, or were lately, the most interesting parts of Jerusalem.

The Angler's Song.-I. MCLELLAN, JUN.

"There is no life more pleasant than the life of the well-governad angler."-Isaac Walton.

WHEN first the flame of day
Crimsons the sea-like mist,

And from the valley rolls away

The haze, by the sunbeam kissed,

Then to the lonely woods I pass.

With angling rod and line,

While yet the dew-drops, in the grass,
Like flashing diamonds shine.

How vast the mossy forest-halls,

Silent, and full of gloom!

Through the high roof the daybeam falls,

Like torch-light in a tomb.

The old trunks of trees rise round

Like pillars in a church of old,

And the wind fills them with a sound
As if a bell were tolled.

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