The stranger hath thy bridle rein-thy master hath his

gold

Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed-thou'rt sold!

Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile must

roam,

To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home;

Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bread

prepare;

The silky mane I braided once must be another's care! The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with

thee

Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be:

Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy

plain

Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again,

Yes, thou must go! the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun

and sky,

Thy master's home-from all of these my exiled one must

fly:

Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet,

And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck thy master's hand

to meet.

Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright, Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and

light;

And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed,

Then must I starting wake, to feel-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed.

Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,

Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy pant

ing side,

And the rich blood that is in thee swells in thy indignant

pain,

Till careless eyes which rest on thee may count each started vein.

Will they ill-use thee? If I thought-but no, it cannot

be;

Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so

free:

And yet if haply, when thou'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn,

Can the hand which casts thee from it now command thee to return?

Return! alas, my Arab steed! what shall thy master do, When thou who wert his all of joy hast vanished from his view?

When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears

Thy bright form for a moment like the false mirage appears?

Slow and unmounted will I roam, with weary foot alone, Where with fleet step and joyous bound thou oft hast borne me on;

And sitting down by the green well I'll pause, and sadly

think,

'It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!'

When last I saw thee drink!-away! the fevered dream is o'er;

I could not live a day and know that we should meet no

more.

They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong

They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long. Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?

'Tis false !-'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!

Thus, thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant

plains ;

Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains!

THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. (CAMPBELL.)

Он, sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile,
And Hope,' thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression 2 poured to Northern wars
Her whiskered pandoors 3 and her fierce hussars;

1 Hope. This is an extract from Campbell's finest poem, The Pleasures of Hope.'

2 Leagued oppression. In 1772, Russia, Austria, and Prussia formed a league to dismember Poland, and divided the greater part of it among themselves. Other portions were seized in 1793; and two years later, after a gallant attempt by the Poles to regain their freedom, the remainder was appropriated, and Poland ceased to be an independent state.

3 Pandoors, Austrian foot-soldiers.

Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn;

Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet-horn : Tumultuous Horror brooded o'er her van;

Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man!

Warsaw's last champion' from her height surveyed
Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid:

'O Heaven!' he cried, 'my bleeding country save!
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though Destruction sweep those lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name we wave the sword on bigh!
And swear for her to live!-with her to die!'

He said; and on the rampart-heights arrayed
His trusty warriors-few, but undismayed;
Firm-paced, and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
'Revenge or death!'-the watchword and reply;
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin 2 tolled their last alarm!

In vain, alas-in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time!
Sarmatia 3 fell, unwept, without a crime !

:

1 Warsaw's last champion, Thaddeus Kosciusko, the celebrated Polish general and patriot. At the head of 4,000 of his countrymen, the greater part of whom were armed only with pikes and scythes, he defeated 12,000 Russians in 1794. Later in the same year he was defeated by the Russians, wounded, and taken prisoner. In 1797 he was set at liberty, and soon after settled in France. He died in Switzerland in 1817.

2 The loud tocsin, the alarm bells.

3 Sarmatia, the ancient name of Poland,

Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!

Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear,
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career :
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked-as KOSCIUSKO fell!

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there-
Tumultuous Murder shook the midnight air;
On Prague's 1 proud arch the fires of Ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring below;
The storm prevails-the rampart yields a way—
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay !
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook! red meteors flashed along the sky!
And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry!

Departed spirits of the mighty dead!

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra 2 bled!
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return
The patriot TELL-the BRUCE 3 of Bannockburn!

1 Prague. Warsaw, on the river Vistula, was the capital of Poland. Prague, or Praga, was one of its suburbs, and was almost destroyed by the Russians in 1795.

2 Marathon and Leuctra, famous battle-fields in Greece.

3 Tell and Bruce, the great champions of national liberty in Switzerland and Scotland respectively.