"T is going! yes, I mean to fling
The bauble from my soul away
I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring:

The world at auction here, to-day'
It is a glorious sight to see,-

But, ah! it has deceived me sore
It is not what it seems to be.

For sale! it shall be mine no more.
Come, turn it o'er and view it well;
I would not have you purchase dear.
"T is going! going! I must sell!

Who bids? who 'll buy the splendid tear? Here's wealth, in glittering heaps of gold; Who bids? But let me tell you fair,

A baser lot was never sold!

Who 'll buy the heavy heaps of care?
And, here, spread out in broad domain,
A goodly landscape all may trace,
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill and plain ;
Who 'll buy himself a burial place?
Here's Love, the dreamy potent spell
That Beauty flings around the heart;
I know its power, alas! too well;

'T is going! Love and I must part!
Must part? What can I more with Love?
All over 's the enchanter's reign.
Who 'll buy the plumeless, dying dove,
A breath of bliss, a storm of pain?
And, Friendship, rarest gem of earth;
Who e'er hath found the jewel his?
Frail, fickle, false and little worth,
Who bids for Friendship -
- as it is?
"Tis going! going! hear the call;
Once, twice and thrice, 't is very low '
T was once my hope, my stay, my all,
But now the broken staff must go!
Fame! hold the brilliant meteor high,
How dazzling every gilded name'
Ye millions! now 's the time to buy.
How much for Fame? how much for Fame?
Hear how it thunders! Would you stand
On high Olympus, far renowned,

Now purchase, and a world command..
And be with a world's curses crowned.

Sweet star of Hope! with ray to shine
In every sad foreboding breast,

45

ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL TAYLOR. - Robert T. Conrad.

WEEP not for him! The Thracians wisely gave
Tears to the birth-couch, triumph to the grave.
Weep not for him! Go, mark his high career;
It knew no shame, no folly, and no fear.
Nurtured to peril, lo! the peril came,

To lead him on, from field to field, to fame.
Weep not for him whose lustrous life has known
No field of fame he has not made his own!

In many a fainting clime, in many a war,
Still bright-browed Victory drew the patriot's car.
Whether he met the dusk and prowling foe
By oceanic Mississippi's flow;

Or where the Southern swamps, with steamy breath,
Smite the worn warrior with no warrior's death!
Or where, like surges on the rolling main,
Squadron on squadron sweep the prairie plain, -
Dawn and the field the haughty foe o'erspread

Sunset and Rio Grandé's waves ran red!

Or where, from rock-ribbed safety, Monterey
Frowns death, and dares him to the unequal fray;
Till crashing walls and slippery streets bespeak
How frail the fortress where the heart is weak.
How vainly numbers menace, rocks defy,
Men sternly knit, and firm to do or die;
Or where on thousands thousands crowding rush
(Rome knew not such a day) his ranks to crush,
The long day paused on Buena Vista's height,
Above the cloud with flashing volleys bright,
Till angry Freedoin, hovering o'er the fray
Swooped down, and made a new Thermopyla;

In every scene of peril and of pain,

His were the toils, his country's was the gain.
From field to field -and all were nobly won--
He bore, with eagle flight, her standard on;
New stars rose there but never star grew dim
While in his patriot grasp. Weep not for him
His was a spirit simple, grand and pure
Great to conceive, to do, and to endure;
Yet the rough warrior was, in heart, a child,
Rich in love's affluence, merciful and mild.
His sterner traits, majestic and antique,
Rivalled the stoic Roman or the Greek;
Excelling both, he adds the Christian name,
And Christian virtues make it more than fame.
To country, youth, age, love, life all were given!
In death, she lingered between him and Heaven;
Thus spake the patriot, in his latest sigh,
"MY DUTY DONE - I DO NOT FEAR TO DIE!"

46. THE PASSAGE.. -Uhland. Translated by Miss Austen.

MANY a year is in its grave

Since I crossed this restless wave,
And the evening, fair as ever,
Shines on ruin, rock and river.

Then, in this same boat, beside,
Sat two comrades, old and tried ;
One with all a father's truth,
One with all the fire of youth.

One on earth in science wrought,
And his grave in silence sought;
But the younger, brighter form,
Passed in battle and in storm.

So, whene'er I turn mine eye
Back upon the days gone by,

Saddening thoughts of friends come o er me,
Friends who closed their course before me.

Yet what binds us, friend to friend,
But that soul with soul can blend?
Soul-like were those hours of yore —
Let us walk in soul once more!

Take, O boatman, twice thy fee! -
Take, I give it willingly-
For, invisibly to thee.

Spirits twain have crossed with me.

Courage! Nothing e'er withstood
Freemen fighting for their good,
Armed with all their father's fame,
They will win and wear a name,
That shall go to endless glory,
Like the Gods of old Greek story,
Raised to Heaven and heavenly worth,
For the good they gave to earth.
Courage! There is none so poor
(None of all who wrong endure),
None so humble, none so weak,
But may flush his father's cheek,
And his maiden's dear and true,
With the deeds that he may do.
Be his days as dark as night,
He may make himself a light.
What though sunken be his sun?
There are stars when day is done!

THE MOOR'S REVENGE.-Original Paraphrase from the Polish of Mickiewica

BEYORE Grenada's fated walls, encamped in proud array,
And flushed with many a victory, the Spanish army lay.
Of all Grenada's fortresses but one defies their might:
On Alphuara's minarets the crescent still is bright.
Almanzor! King Almanzor! all vainly you resist :
Your little band is fading fast away like morning mist,
A direr foe than ever yet they met on battle-plain
Assaults life's inmost citadel, and heaps the ground with slain

One onset more of Spanish ranks, and soon it will be made,
And Alphuara's towers must reel, and in the dust be laid.

And shall the haughty infidcl pollute this sacred land?" Almanzor said, as mournfully he marked his dwindling band. Upon our glorious crescent shall the Spaniard set his heel? And is there not one lingering hope? Can Heaven no aid reveal? Ay, by our holy Prophet, now, one ally still remains!

And I will hind him close to me, for better death than chains!

-

The victors at the banquet sat, and music lent its cheer,
When suddenly a sentry's voice announced a stranger near
From Alphuara had he come, with fierce, unwonted speed,
And much it would import to Spain the news he bore to heed.
"Admit him!" cry the revellers; and in the pilgrim strode,
And, throwing off his mantle loose, a Moorish habit showed!
"Almanzor! King Almanzor!" they cried, with one acclaim:
"Almanzor!" said the Moslem cniet; " Almanzor is my name.
"To serve your prophet and your king, O Spaniards, I am here:
Believe, reject me, if you will, this breast has outlived fear!
No longer in his creed or cause Almanzor can confide;
For all the Powers above, 't is clear, are fighting on your side."
"Now, welcome, welcome, gallant Moor!" the Spanish chieftain said:
"Grenada's last intrenchment now we speedily shall tread.
Approach, embrace; our waning feast thy coming shall renew;
And in this cup of foaming wine we 'll drink to yours and you."
Right eagerly, to grasp the hands outstretched on every side,
Almanzor rushed, and greeted each as bridegroom might his bride:
He glued his fevered lips to theirs, - he kissed them on the cheek,
And breathed on all as if his heart would all its passion wreak.
But suddenly his limbs relax, a flush comes o'er his face,
He reels, as, with a pressure faint, he gives a last embrace;
And livid, purple grows his skin, and wild his eyeballs roll,
And some great torture seems to heave the life-roots of his soul.

read!

"Look, Giaours!* miscreants in race, and infidels in creed!
Look on this pale, distorted face, and tell me what ye
These limbs convulsed, these fiery pangs, these eyeballs hot and blear
Ha' know ye not what they portend? The plague the plague, is

here!

And it has sealed you for its own; ay, every Judas kiss

I

gave shall bring anon to you an agony like this!

All art is vain: your poisoned blood all leechcraft will defy,

Like me ye shall in anguish writhe like me in torture die '"

Once more he stepped their chief to reach, and blast him with his

breath;

But sank, as if Revenge itself were striving hard with Death.

* Pronounced Gowers- the ow as in power.