The mountain-eagle seeks;
Alone he reigns a monarch there,
Scarce will the chamois' footstep dare
Ascend his Alpine peaks.

Others there are, that make their home
Where the white billows roar and foam.
Around the o'erhanging rock;
Fearless they skim the angry wave.
Or shelter'd in their sea-beat cave,
The tempest's fury mock.

Where Afric's burning realm expands,
The ostrich haunts the desert sands,
Parch'd by the blaze of day;

The swan, where northern rivers glide,
Through the tall reeds that fringe their tide,
Floats graceful on her way.

The condor, where the Andes tower, Spreads his broad wing of pride and power

And many a storm defies;

Bright in the orient realms of morn,
All beauty's richest hues adorn
The bird of paradise.

Some, amidst India's groves of palm,
And spicy forests breathing balm,
Weave soft their pendant nest;
Some deep in Western wilds, display
Their fairy form and plumage gay,
In rainbow colors drest.

Others no varied song may pour,
May boast no eagle-plume to sour,
No tints of light may wear;

Yet, know, our Heavenly Father guides
The least of these, and well provides
For each, with tenderest care.

Shall He not then thy guardian be?
Will not his aid extend to thee?
Oh! safely may'st thou rest!-
Trust in his love, and e'en should pain,
Should sorrow tempt thee to complain,
Know what He wills is best!

THE SKY-LARK.

CHILD'S MORNING HYMN.

THE Sky-lark, when the dews of morn,
Hang tremulous on flower and thorn,

And violets round his nest exhale
Their fragrance on the early gale,
To the first sunbeam spreads his wings,
Buoyant with joy, and soars and sings.
He rests not on the leafy spray,
To warble his exulting lay;

But high above the morning cloud
Mounts in triumphant freedom proud,
And swells, when nearest to the sky,
His notes of sweetest ecstasy.

Thus, my Creator? thus the more
My spirit's wing to Thee can soar,
The more she triumphs to behold
Thy love in all thy works unfold,
And bids her hymns of rapture be
Most glad, when rising most to Thee!

THE NIGHTINGALE.

CHILD'S EVENING HYMN.

WHEN twilight's grey and pensive hour Brings the low breeze, and shuts the flower, And bids the solitary star

Shine in pale beauty from afar.

When gathering shades the landscape veil,

And peasants seek their village-dale,

And mists from river-wave arise,

And dew in every blossom lies.

When evening's primrose opes to shed
Soft fragrance round her grassy bed;
When glowworms in the wood-walk light
Their lamp, to cheer the traveller's sight;

At that calm hour, so still, so pale,
Awakes the lonely nightingale;
And from a hermitage of shade
Fills with her voice the forest-glade;

And sweeter far that melting voice,
Than all which through the day rejoice;
And still shall bard and wand'rer love
The twilight music of the grove.

Father in heaven! oh! thus when day
With all its cares hath pass'd away,
And silent hours waft peace on earth,
And hush the louder strains of mirth;
Thus may sweet songs of praise and prayer
To Thee my spirit's offering bear;

Yon star, my signal, set on high,
For vesper-hymns of piety.

So may thy mercy and thy power
Protect me through the midnight hour;
And balmy sleep and visions blest
Smile on thy servant's bed of rest.

THE NORTHERN SPRING.

WHEN the soft breath of Spring goes forth
Far o'er the mountains of the North,
How soon those wastes of dazzling snow
With life, and bloom, and beauty glow!
Then bursts the verdure of the plains,
Then break the streams from icy chains;
And the glad reindeer seeks no more
Amidst deep snows his mossy store,
Then the dark pine-wood's boughs are seen
Fringed tenderly with living green;
And roses, in their brightest dyes,
By Lapland's founts and lakes arise.
Thus, in a moment, from the gloom
And the cold fetters of the tomb,
Thus shall the blest Redeemer's voice
Call forth his servants to rejoice.

For He, whose word is truth, hath said,
His power to life shall wake the dead,
And summon those he loves on high,
To "put on immortality!"

Then, all its transient sufferings o'er,
On wings of light the soul shall soar,
Fxulting, to that blest abode,

Where tears of sorrow never flow'd.

PARAPHRASE OF PSALM CXLVIII.

"Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens : praise him in the heights."

PRAISE ye the Lord! on every height

Songs to his glory raise!

Ye angel-hosts, ye stars of night,

Join in immortal praise!

Oh! heaven of heavens ! let praise far-swelling

From all thine orbs be sent!

Join in the strain, ye waters, dwelling
Above the firmament!

For His the word which gave you birth,
And majesty, and might;

Praise to the Highest from the earth,
And let the deeps unite!

Oh! fire and vapor, hail and snow!
Ye servants of His will!

O! stormy winds, that only blow
His mandates to fulfil;

Mountains and rocks, to heaven that rise;

Fair cedars of the wood!

Creatures of life that wing the skies,
Or track the plains for food;
Judges of nations! kings, whose hand
Waves the proud sceptre high!
O! youths and virgins of the land,
O! age and infancy!

Praise ye His name, to whom alone
All homage should be given;
Whose glory, from the eternal throne
Spreads wide o'er earth and heaven!

SCENE I.-Before the gates of a City in Palestine. URBAN, PRIESTS, CITIZENS, at the gates. Others looking from the walls above.

Urb. (to a CITIZEN on the walls above.) You see their iances

glistening? You can tell

The way they take?

Cit.

Not yet. Their march is slow; They have not reach'd the jutting cliff, where first The mountain path divides.

Urb. Cit.

And now?

The wood

Shuts o'er their track. Now spears are flashing out-
It is the banner of De Chatillon.

(Very slow and mournful military music without.) This way! they come this way!

Urb.
All holy saints
Grant that they pass us not! Those martial sounds
Have a strange tone of sadness! Hark, they swell
Proudly, yet full of sorrow.

[Knights, Soldiers, &c., enter with RAIMER DE CHATILLON.. Welcome, knights!

Ye bring us timely aid! men's hearts were full

Of doubt and terror.

Brave De Chatillon !

True soldier of the Cross! I welcome thee;
I greet thee with all blessing! Where thou art
There is deliverance!

Rai. (bending to receive the Priest's blessing.)
Holy man, I come

From a lost battle.

Urb.

His bier!-I marvel not

Not, not in arms—

To see your brow thus darken'd!-And he died

As he had lived, in arms?

Rai. (gloomily.)

His war-cry had been silenced. Have ye place
Amidst your ancient knightly sepulchres

For a warrior with his sword?-He bade me bear
His dust to slumber here.

Urb.

And it shall sleep

Beside our noblest, while we yet can call

One holy place our own!-Heard you, my lord,
That the fierce Kaled's host is on its march

Against our city?

Rai. (with sudden exultation.) That were joy to know.

That were proud joy!-who told it ?-there's a weight

That must be heaved from off my troubled heart

By the strong tide of battle!-Kaled!-Ay,

A gallant name !-how heard you?

Urb.

Nay, it seem'd

As if a breeze first bore the rumor in.
I know not how it rose; but now it comes
Like fearful truth, and we were sad, thus left
Hopeless of aid or counsel-till we saw-

Rai. (hastily.) You have my brother here?
Urb. (with embarrassment.) We have-but he-