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fragments of shipwreck; but it is the equal current of a majestic river, which safely bears upon its bosom the riches of the land, and reads its history in the smiling cities and villages that are reflected from its unvarying surface. Such is the praise of the late Chief Justice Tilghman. He merited, by his public works and by his private virtues, the respect and affection of his countrymen; and the best wish for his country and his office is, that his mantle have fallen may his successor. upon

DINO.

BY THOMAS FISHER.

THE transient and eventful day
Was fading pauselessly away;

And now the dim and sulphury cloud,
That form'd the battle's thunder-shroud,
Far stretch'd along the stormy sky
Above the plains of Muscovy.

The battle ceased, and all was still
On the wide plain; o'er wood, and hill,
And valley of the rushing stream,
Not an alarum-gun was fired;

Naught but their twinkling lances' gleam
Told that the northern hosts retired.
A glow of red and shadowy light
Was lingering in the horizon west,
And lit the curtains of the night
Around the day-star's place of rest.
The length'ning lines of watch-fires rose,
The wearied armies sought repose,
The soldier, stretch'd upon the soil,
Courted oblivion of his toil.

Upon the morning of that day,
The far-responding reveillé
Had summon'd in embattled line
The leagued nations of the Rhine.
The impulse of one mighty mind

Had led those glittering legions forth,
And bade them seek in realms afar,
'Neath the proud turrets of the north,
The glory and the boon of war.

There moved the phalanx of the brave,
Far swelling as the ocean-wave

Of the dark Arctic, when it rolls
Amid the icebergs of the poles.

On their proud frontlets you might trace,
Adown the far historic page,

The character of many a race,

The chivalry of many an age.

The sons of sires whom Cæsar led,
The Lithuanian and the Goth,

Were marching with a measured tread
In the same mighty sabaoth,

Beside the noblest youth of France-
All sharers in the same romance.
There was young recklessness of life,
And lofty fearlessness of eye,
That gloried in the fiercest strife,

Nor cared, as heroes live, to die.
And there the veteran's war-wrought form,
The soldier of Marengo's field,

Inured to battle, and to storm,

Of lion-heart, unused to yield:

That soldier, who in early youth ⚫

Had met the Arab's whirlwind-lance, Still follows here with changeless truth, The yet ascending star of France. Amid his chosen chiefs of war,

Napoleon from a height survey'd

The mighty masses of the Czar,
In countless density array'd;

And thought, as rose the cloudless sun, 'Twas thus-when Austerlitz was won.

Now 'tis the evening;-on the plain
Are strown the battle-drifted slain;
The tawny children of the Moor,
The Calmuck, the Carinthian boor,
The belted Cossack of the Don,
The plumed knight of Arragon,
The emblem lion and the bear,
Have met in death's stern conflict there;
And many a youth of fearless eye
Beneath this dark and storm-swept sky
Reclines upon the turf to die:
Still, o'er the soldier's dying hour,
Memory bestows her magic power,
And lights the flickering lamp of life
As though its streams were fresh and rife;
For each has left a vacant hearth,
His loves, the valley of his birth,
His altar, and his childhood's home,
The kindling of a mother's eye,
When lust of conquest bade him roam

To march beneath a distant sky—

The peasant of the winding Rhine

Has wandered from his vine-wrought bowers,

The shepherd of the Appenine

Has left his flock-his mountain flowers;

Yon dresser of the olive-grove

Has torn him from his plighted love

Upon Italia's hills afar

She gazes on the evening star,
And tunes for him the sweet guitar,
But her sad faithfulness is vain-

That youth will ne'er return again;

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When the last rallying charge of horse
Spur'd proudly on o'er many a corse,
His form was crush'd-upon his brow
The dews of death are falling now:
Ere yet the coming dawn of day
Shall wake again the reveillé,
His life's last impulse will be o'er,
He'll hear the bugle-note no more;
He may not meet his blushing maid
Beneath the bowering myrtle shade-
Siberia's ravens riot here,

In gather'd flights, the wintry year,
And ere the far return of spring,
His bones are bleach'd and glistening.

But soon the sun will light again
The battle on this reeking plain;
Italia's gayest, bravest knight,
The wildest meteor of the fight,
Leads on his clouds of prancing steeds,
His dreamers of chivalrous deeds-
The farthest banners as they float
Shall tremble to the trumpet-note,
And seas of nodding plumes shall wave
To the firm foot-fall of the brave.
Gallia's untiring eagles fly

Yet onward, 'neath the northern sky,
Where coldly shines the pivot star
O'er the bronzed towers of the Czar:
But thence those eagles shall be driven
By the dread tempest winds of heaven:

For they shall find a fiercer foe

E'en than the desert-nurtured men;

And their proud bearers shall lie low,

Entomb'd in wastes of wolf-traced snow.

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