Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallow'd day.

The halls, from old heroic ages gray,

Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play,

Send out their inmates in a happy flow,
Like a free vernal stream. I may not tread
With them those pathways,-to the feverish bed
Of sickness bound;-yet, oh my God! I bless
Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath fill'd
My chasten'd heart, and all its throbbings still'd
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.

THE CHILDE'S DESTINY.

"And none did love him,-not his lemans dear,—— But pomp and power alone are woman's care; And where these are, light Eros finds a frere." Byron.

No mistress of the hidden skill,

No wizard gaunt and grim,
Went up by night to heath or hill,
To read the stars for him;
The merriest girl in all the land
Of vine-encircled France,
Bestow'd upon his brow and hand

Her philosophic glance:

"I bind thee with a spell," said she,
"I sign thee with a sign;
No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!

"And trust me, 't is not that thy cheek
Is colourless and cold,

Nor that thine eye is slow to spcak
What only eyes have told;
For many a chcek of paler white
Hath blush'd with passion's kiss;
And many an eye of lesser light

Hath caught its fire from bliss ;
Yet while the rivers scek the sea,

And while the young stars shine,
No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!

"And 't is not that thy spirit, awed
By beauty's numbing spell,
Shrinks from the force, or from the fraud
Which beauty loves so well;
For thou hast learn'd to watch and wake,
And swear by earth and sky;
And thou art very bold to take

What we must still deny :

I cannot tell the charm was wrought
By other threads than mine,
The lips are lightly begg'd or bought,
The heart may not be thine!

"Yet thine the brightest smile shall be
That ever beauty wore,
And confidence from two or three,
And compliments from more ;

And one shall give-perchance hath given,
What only is not love;
Friendship,-oh! such as saints in heaven
Rain on us from above.

If she shall meet thee in the bower,

Or name thee in the shrine, Oh! wear the ring, and guard the flower,Her heart may not be thine!

"Go, set thy boat before the blast,

Thy breast before the gun :-
The haven shall be reach'd at last,
The battle shall be won;
Or muse upon thy country's laws,
Or strike thy country's lute;-
And patriot hands shall sound applause,
And lovely lips be mute:

Go, dig the diamond from the wave,
The treasure from the mine;
Enjoy the wreath, the gold, the grave,—
No woman's heart is thine!

"I charm thee from the agony
Which others feel or feign;
From anger, and from jealousy,

From doubt, and from disdain;
I bid thee wear the scorn of years
Upon the check of youth,
And curl the lip at passion's tears,
And shake the head at truth:
While there is bliss in revelry,
Forgetfulness in wine,

Be thou from woman's love as free,
As woman is from thine!"

TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND AND RELATIVE.

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."

WE miss thy voice while early flowers are blow. ing,

And the first blush of blossom clothes each bough,

And the spring sunshine round our home is glow. ing,

Soft as thy smile-thou wouldst be with us now

With us!-we wrong thee by the earthly thought—

Could our fond gaze but follow where thou art, Well might the glories of this world seem naught To the one promise given the pure in heart.

Yet wert thou blest e'en here-oh! ever blest

In thine own sunny thoughts and tranqu faith!

The silent joy that still o'erflow'd thy breast,

Needed but guarding from all change by death

So is it seal'd to peace!-on thy clear brow Never was care one fleeting shade to casi, And thy calm days in brightness were to fl A holy stream untroubled to the last

Farewell! thy life hath left surviving love
A wealth of records and sweet "feelings given."
From sorrow's heart the faintness to remove,
By whispers breathing "less of earth than
heaven."

Thus rests thy spirit still on those with whom
Thy step the path of joyous duty trod,
Bidding them make an altar of thy tomb,
Where chasten'd thought may offer praise to
God!

WOMAN AND FAME.

HAPPY-happier far than thou,
With the laurel on thy brow;
She that makes the humblest hearth
Lovely but to one on earth.

Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame,
A draught that mantles high,
And seems to lift this earthly frame
Above mortality.

Away! to me a woman-bring
Sweet water from affection's spring.

Thou hast green laurel leaves that twine
Into so proud a wreath;

For that resplendent gift of thine,

Heroes have smiled in death. Give me from some kind hand a flower, The record of one happy hour!

Thou hast a voice, whose thrilling tone

Can bid each life-pulse beat, As when a trumpet's note hath blown, Calling the brave to meet : But mine, let mine-a woman's breast, By words of home-born love be bless'd.

A hollow sound is in thy song,

A mockery in thine eye,

To the sick heart that doth but long
For aid, for sympathy,
For kindly looks to cheer it on,
For tender accents that are gone.

Fame, Fame! thou canst not be the stay
Unto the drooping reed,

The cool fresh fountain in the day
Of the soul's feverish need:

Where must the lone one turn or flee?
Not unto thee, oh! not to thee!

WASHINGTON'S STATUE.

Sent from England to america.

YES! rear thy guardian Hero's form
On thy proud soil, thou Western World!
A watcher through each sign of storm,
O'er Freedom's flag unfurl'd.

There, as before a shrine to bow,
Bid thy true sons their children lead
The language of that noble brow

For all things good shall plead.
The spirit rear'd in patriot fight,
The Virtue born of Home and Hearth,
There calmly throned, a holy light

Shall pour o'er chainless earth. And let that work of England's hand, Sent through the blast and surge's roar, So girt with tranquil glory, stand

For ages on thy shore!

Such through all time the greetings be,
That with the Atlantic billow sweep!
Telling the Mighty and the Free
Of Brothers o'er the Deep!

Though a Christian banner from her wall,
Waved free its Lily-flowers.

Ay, proudly did the banner wave,
As Queen of Earth and Air;
But faint hearts throbb'd beneath its folds,
In anguish and despair.

Deep, deep in Paynim dungeon,
Their kingly chieftain lay,

And low on many an Eastern field
Their knighthood's best array.
'T was mournful, when at feasts they met,
The wine-cup round to send,
For each that touch'd it silently,
Then miss'd a gallant friend!

And mournful was their vigil

On the beleaguer'd wall,

And dark their slumber, dark with dreams Of slow defeat and fall.

Yet a few hearts of Chivalry

Rose high to breast the storm, And one-of all the lofticst thereThrill'd in a woman's form.

A woman, meckly bending

O'er the slumber of her child, With her soft sad eyes of weeping love, As the Virgin Mother's mild.

Queen of St. Louis. Whilst besieged by the Turks la Da mietta, during the captivity of the king, her busband, she there gave birth to a son, whom she named Tristan, in commemoration of her misfortunes. Information being conveyed to he that the knights intrusted with the defence of the city had re solved on capitulation, she had them summoned to her apartment, and, by her heroic words, so wrought upon their spirits. that they vowed to defend her and the Cross to the last ex tremit

Oh! roughly cradled was thy Babe, 'Midst the clash of spear and lance,

And the city which for Christian prayer Hath heard the holy bell

Queen:

Fair Marguerite of France!

A dark and vaulted chamber,
Like a scene for wizard-spell,
Deep in the Saracenic gloom

Of the warrior citadel;

And there 'midst arms the couch was spread,
And with banners curtain'd o'er,

For the Daughter of the Minstrel-land,
The gay Provençal shore!

For the bright Queen of St. Louis,

The star of court and hall!—

But the deep strength of the gentle heart,
Wakes to the tempest's call!
Her Lord was in the Paynim's hold,
His soul with grief oppress'd,
Yet calmly lay the Desolate,

With her young babe on her breast!

There were voices in the city,

Voices of wrath and fear-
"The walls grow weak, the strife is vain,
We will not perish here!

Yield! yield! and let the crescent gleam
O'er tower and bastion high!
-Our distant homes are beautiful-
We stay not here to die!"

They bore those fearful tidings

To the sad Queen where she layThey told a tale of wavering hearts, Of treason and dismay :

The blood rush'd through her pearly cheek, The sparkle to her eye

"Now call me hither those recreant knights, From the bands of Italy!'

Then through the vaulted chambers
Stern iron footsteps rang;

And heavily the sounding floor
Gave back the sabre's clang.
They stood around her-steel-clad men,
Moulded for storm and fight,
But they quail'd before the loftier soul
In that pale aspect bright.

Yes-as before the Falcon shrinks
The Bird of meaner wing,

So shrank they from th' imperial glance
Of Her-that fragile thing!

And her flute-like voice rose clear and high,
Through the din of arms around,
Sweet, and yet stirring to the soul,
As a silver clarion's sound.

"The honour of the Lily

Is in your hands to keep,

And the Banner of the Cross, for Him Who died on Calvary's steep:

The proposal to capitulate is attributed by the French historian to the Knights of Pisu.

To the godless Infidel?

"Then bring me here a breastplate,

And a helm, before ye fly,

And I will gird my woman's form,

And on the ramparts die!

And the Boy whom I have borne for woe,
But never for disgrace,

Shall go within mine arms to death
Meet for his royal race.

"Look on him as he slumbers

In the shadow of the Lance!
Then go, and with the Cross forsake
The princely Babe of France!
But tell your homes ye left one heart
To perish undefiled;

A Woman and a Queen, to guard
Her Honour and her Child!"

Before her words they thrill'd, like leaves
When winds are in the wood;
And a deepening murmur told of men
Roused to a loftier mood.

And her Babe awoke to flashing swords,
Unsheathed in many a hand,

As they gather'd round the helpless One, Again a noble band!

"We are thy warriors, Lady!

True to the Cross and thee!
The spirit of thy kindling word
On every sword shall be!
Rest, with thy fair child on thy breast,
Rest-we will guard thee well:

St. Denis for the Lily-flower,
And the Christian citadel!"

THE SILENT MULTITUDE

For we are many in our So.tudes.
Lament of Tases

A MIGHTY and a mingled throng
Were gather'd in one spot;
The Dwellers of a thousand Homes-
Yet 'midst them Voice was not.

The Soldier and his Chief were there-
The Mother and her Child:
The friends, the Sisters of one hearth-
None spoke-none moved, none smiled
There lovers met, between whose lives
Years had swept darkly by;
After that heart-sick hope deferr'd—
They met but silently.

You might have heard the rustling ca
The breeze's faintest sound,

The shiver of an insect's wing

On that thick-peopled ground.