LESSON CIII.

Marco Bozzaris.*—HALLECK.

AT midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour,
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power.

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring;
Then pressed that monarch's throne,-a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird.

At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.

There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood
On old Platæa's day;

And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires, who conquered there,
With arm to strike, and soul to dare,
As quick, as far as they.

An hour passed on-the Turk awoke—
That bright dream was his last;

He woke to hear his sentries shriek,

"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"

He woke to die midst flame and smoke,

And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast

Bozzaris was the Epaminondas of Modern Greece. He fell in an attack the Turkish camp, at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platæa, August 20,

3, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were "To for liberty, is a pleasure, and not a pain."

ightnings from the mountain cloud; heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Ozzaris cheer his band:

ike! till the last armed foe expires; ke! for your altars and your fires; e! for the green graves of your sires; od-and your native land!"

y fought, like brave men, long and well; hey piled that ground with Moslem slain; y conquered-but Bozzaris fell, eeding at every vein.

few surviving comrades saw

smile, when rang the proud hurrah, nd the red field was won;

n saw in death his eyelids close ly, as to a night's repose,

ke flowers at set of sun.

e to the bridal chamber, Death! ome to the mother when she feels, the first time, her first born's breath; ome when the blessed seals, - close the pestilence, are broke, crowded cities wail its stroke; e in Consumption's ghastly form, earthquake shock, the ocean storm; e when the heart beats high and warm, ith banquet-song, and dance, and winethou art terrible: the tear,

groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,

all we know, or dream, or fear,

E agony, are thine.

co the hero, when his sword

as won the battle for the free,
voice sounds like a prophet's word;
in its hollow tones are heard
me thanks of millions yet to be.

Bozzaris, with the storied brave,
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee-there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.

We tell thy doom without a sigh;

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's-
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.

LESSON CIV.

Reflections of a Belle.-N. E. WEEKLY REVIEW.

M weary
of the crowded ball; I'm weary of the mirth,
Which never lifts itself above the grosser things of earth;
m weary of the flatterer's tone: its music is no more,
nd eye and lip may answer not its meaning as before;
m weary of the heartless throng-of being deemed as one,
hose spirit kindles only in the blaze of fashion's sun.

speak in very bitterness, for I have deeply felt

he mockery of the hollow shrine at which my spirit knelt;
ine is the requiem of years, in reckless folly passed,
he wail above departed hopes, on a frail venture cast,

he vain regret, that steals above the wreck of squandered

hours,

ike the sighing of the autumn wind above the faded flowers.

h! it is worse than mockery to list the flatterer's tone,
o lend a ready ear to thoughts the cheek must blush to own,—
o hear the red lip whispered of, and the flowing curl and eye
ade constant themes of eulogy, extravagant and high,-
nd the charm of person worshipped, in a homage offered not
o the perfect charm of virtue, and the majesty of thought.

way! I will not fetter thus the spirit God hath given,
or stoop the pinion back to earth that beareth up to heaven;

H

ow a tameless heart to fashion's iron rule,

ne, with a smile, alike the gifted and the fool: e throng pass coldly on; a treasured few may find of person doubly dear beneath the light of mind.

LESSON CV.

Childhood.-N. M. MAGAZINE.

t be incorrigibly unamiable, who is not a little imbecoming a father. Some there are, however, not how to appreciate the blessings with which e has filled their quiver; who receive with coldness eeting or a daughter's kiss; who have principle operly to feed, and clothe, and educate their chilbor for their support and provision, but possess not on which turns duty into delight; who are surith blossoms, but know not the art of extracting isite sweets. How different is the effect of true ove, where nature, duty, habit and feeling combine ute an affection the purest, the deepest and the the most enduring, the least exacting of any of human heart is capable!

fish bachelor may shudder, when he thinks of the ces of a family; he may picture to himself littered injured furniture, imagine the noise and confusion, se and the cares, from which he is luckily free; elf in his solitude, and pity his unfortunate neighbor, alf a dozen squalling children to torment and imim.

fortunate neighbor, however, returns the compliinterest, sighs over the loneliness of the wealthy and can never see, without feelings of regret, here no stray plaything tells of the occasional of a child, gardens where no tiny foot-mark reminds s treasures at home. He has listened to his heart, ed from it a precious secret; he knows how to oise into harmony, expense into self-gratification;

d trouble into amusement; and he reaps, in one day's incourse with his family, a harvest of love and enjoyment ch enough to repay years of toil and care. He listens gerly on his threshold for the boisterous greeting he is sure receive, feels refreshed by the mere pattering sound of the rlings' feet, as they hurry to receive his kiss, and cures, by noisy game at romps, the weariness and head-ache which gained in his intercourse with men.

But it is not only to their parents and near connexions, that ildren are interesting and delightful; they are general farites, and their caresses are slighted by none but the ange, the affected, or the morose. I have, indeed, heard ine lady declare that she preferred a puppy or a kitten to a ild; and I wondered she had not sense enough to conceal want of womanly feeling; and I know another fair simeton, who considers it beneath her to notice those from om no intellectual improvement can be derived, forgetting at we have hearts to cultivate as well as heads. But these e extraordinary exceptions to general rules, as uncommon d disgusting as a beard on a lady's chin, or a pipe in her uth.

Even men may condescend to sport with children witht fear of contempt; and for those who like to shelter emselves under authority, and cannot venture to be wise d happy their own way, we have plenty of splendid exams, ancient and modern, living and dead, to adduce, which y sanction a love for these pigmy play things. Statesmen ve romped with them, orators told them stories, conquerors omitted to their blows, judges, divines and philosophers ened to their prattle, and joined in their sports. Spoiled children are, however, excepted from this partialievery one joins in visiting the faults of others upon their ads, and hating these unfortunate victims of their parents' y. They must be bribed to good behavior, like many of ir elders; they insist upon fingering your watch, and iling what they do not understand, like numbers of the rons of literature and the arts; they will sometimes cry the moon, as absurdly as Alexander for more worlds; and en they are angry, they have no mercy for cups and cers. They are as unreasonable, impatient, selfish, ex