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We saw him droop, and many a one, else scarce to love beguiled,
Watched him, as tender parents watch a favourite drooping child.
For the hot plains where he had lain, by cureless wounds oppressed,
Mussooree, the site of a station which is now one of the chief resorts of the visiters from the plains, stands at an elevation of seven thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea, and is situated on the southern face of the ridge called the Landour Range, and overlooking the village of that name, which has been chosen for the establishment of a military We bore him to the northern hills, to a sweet land sanitarium, for those officers and privates belonging to the Bengal army, who have lost their health in the plains. Nothing can be imagined more delicious to an invalid, half
dying under the burning sun of India, than the being removed into the fine, bracing, and cool atmosphere of this station.
All round him are the most sublime natural objects--the most stupendous rivers and mountains of the world, but all subdued into a character of astonishing beauty; while the growth of the hills, and of the very ground under his feet, must transport bim back into his native Britain.
Oh, what a joy it was to him to feel the cool winds blow,
To see the golden morning light array the peaks of
"What joy to see familiar things where'er his footsteps trod ;
The oak-tree in the mountain-cleft; the daisy on the sod;
"TELL me about my son, dear friend, for I can bear The primrose and the violet; the green moss of the to know,
Now that my heart is stayed by prayer, that history The crimson wild-briar rose, and the strawberry of
But whence was it, of seven sons, all men of strength and pride,
How often these sweet living flowers were bathed in blissful tears,
This only one-the gentlest one-forsook his mother's For then his loving spirit drank the joy of bygone
That he whom I had looked to close mine eyes-to" And thou! all thou hadst been to him, he told me ; lay me low,
bade me seek
Died first, and far away! Oh God, thy counsels who Thy face, and to thy broken heart dear words of
THE FAVOURITE OF THE HAREM.
LARGE the eye, and dark as night;
Let her robes be silks and gold,
. With the treasures of the mine;
In the harem's brightest room,
Odalique, the years were few
Ere thy troubled life began!
And thy rich voice keeping time
Wherefore this? for thou wert still
This it is that maketh thee
THE TOMB OF ST. GEORGE.
"This romantic spot is on the route from Beirout to Tripoli, in the bay of Kesrouan, the shores of which display an exquisite verdure, cultivation, and cheerfulness; the villages and convents, one situated above another up the declivities, have a most romantic appearance. This strange excavation appears to have been once a chapel, and is commonly called the Tomb of St. George, our tutelar saint, whose combat with the dragon is said to have taken place at no great distance. On the opposite side of the bay is a Roman arch, and a beautiful rocky promontory. This spot is between Nahr-el-kelb and Batroun. The villages on the hills are neatly built, all flat-roofed, with little latticed windows; two or three of the larger edifices are convents, with a pleasant aspect towards the sea, each having its garden and vineyard: the soil is very fruitful. In the hills in the interior of Asia Minor, the rocks are not unfrequently excavated into a kind of chambers, anciently sepulchral, but now inhabited by peasants and shepherds, and which offer to the traveller a warmer shelter than a ruined khan; the woods supply a good fire, and neither wind nor rain find a passage. Many of these rocks, pierced with ancient catacombs, present, at a small distance, the exact appearance of towers and castles: the people, as in the time of Job, "embrace the caverns of the rock for shelter, and dwell in the cliff's of the valley, fleeing into the wilderness desolate and waste."
THE Wondrous days of old romance
Like summer flowers are fled;
Their mighty men; their lovely dames;
The ancient times are gone indeed;
Tintagel is a heap of stone;
And where Caerleon lay
Gone are the knights of Italy; The paladins of Spain;
And brave king Arthur in the dust,
Sir Bevis and Sir Lancelot,
In England or in France,
Would meet with no adventure now
Were good St. George to speed,
The Guys of Warwick all are dead,
The breast-plates and the caps of steel,
The earth is not what once it was;
Oh! wondrous days of old romance,
How have I loved from childhood's years
Brave prince, and paladin, and peer,
To see the steeds whereon they rode,
So coal-black and so white!
Oh, 't was a wondrous pleasant thing,
To live in those old times, to meet
And even still the charm is strong;
For I see the tombs wherein they lie,
VESPERS IN THE CAPELLA REALE.
"Twas on the Easter Monday, in the evening,
There met he six of his forlorn disciples,
When angels and archangels were awaiting
"Friends, as was the Lord then,
Such, in the royal chapel of Palermo,
To slay eight thousand Christian worshippers!
This town has the distinguished honour of being the birthplace of Lords Eldon and Stowell, who were also both educated at its grammar-school. The eighth anniversary of the British Association for the Advancement of Science was held here during the autumn of 1838. On that occasion Dr. Buckland, referring to the many noble literary and scientific institutions which now adorn the place, remarked, that "twentyfive years ago he was in Newcastle, and the Literary and Philosophical Society was the only institution of a literary or scientific character; but in subsequent years many other societies had sprung up. It was in the recollection of persons now living, that before any of these societies existed in Newcastle, cock-fighting, and bull and bear baiting, were the recreations of the inhabitants; but in this latter day, how great a change! In the former period, Newcastle was chiefly famous as the centre whence radiated physical heat, and for its transcendent grindstones, which were celebrated from China to Peru: but now it gave out to afar, mental light and heatand was an intellectual whetstone for the minds of men."
I LOVE the fields, the woods, the streams,
The crowded city-street;
I see within the city-street
Life's most extreme estates, The gorgeous domes of palaces; The prison's doleful grates;
The hearths by household virtues blest, The dens that are the serpent's nest.
I see the rich man, proudly fed
And richly clothed, pass by;
For life's severest contrasts meet
And lofty, princely palaces
What dreary deeds of woe,
What untold, mortal agonies
Their arras chambers know!
Yet is without all smooth and fair,
As heaven's blue dome of summer air!
And even the portliest citizen,
Within his doors doth hide
Some household grief, some secret care,
It ever was, it must be so,
Hence is it that a city-street
VIEW NEAR DEOBUN, AMONG THE HIMALAYAS.
A SUMMER DAY-DREAM.
I SIT 'mid flowery meadows,
Hard by, a little river
Runs shimmering in the sheen; And silvery aspens quiver Along its margent green.
I hear the warbling linnet;
The wild bee humming round; And every passing minute
Gives some sweet English sound. I see in green nooks pleasant
Small children at their play; And many a cheerful peasant That toileth all the day. "Tis English all! birds singing, Cool shadows, flowers, and rills; And the village-bells' low ringing Among the sleeping hills!
The quiet cattle feeding
In meadows bright as gold, In pastoral vales exceeding Their Arcady of old,—
Are England's, and surround me;
In golden light around me,
Old realms of Indian story,
By witchery of thought, Wrapt in a hazy glory
Before my soul are brought!
The Himalaya mountains,
The heavenly lands below,
I see them like the vision
I see them in far ages
In primal splendour shine,
With them the great World-Giver,
The cities which they builded
With gold were overlaid,
Earth kept no hidden treasure,
Upon their silken raiment
Was set the diamond-stone; And kingly-given payment
Was but in gold alone.
While England yet was forest,
These kingliest of earth's children
But the glory hath departed!
Lie in their tombs forlorn!
And the great River's waters
Are swollen with blood, not rain! And Brahma's sons and daughters Cry from the earth in vain.
Oh, Himalaya mountains,
Still, still ye stand unshaken; Nor have the river-fountains
Their ancient bed forsaken!
Thou wast no god, oh River,
The spoiler to devour!
But, than the mountains stronger, And greater than the River, Ariseth the avenger,
To smite, and to deliver!
The God of earth and heaven
THE NEW PALACE OF MAHMOUD II. A MIGHTY spirit is abroad! The same
That gave th' unknown to Galileo's ken; That guided Luther's world-awakening pen; Whence Milton, Hampden, Sidney, souls a-flame With liberty and light, drew strength and aim! The same that to the great-souled Genoese, Compass in hand, and dreaming of far seas, With glorious visions of the New World came ! Oh, moral renovation, that dost shake,
And overturn; dost often bathe in blood The earth's most gracious bosom, yet dost make All change, all desolation bring forth good, Spirit of love, thou hast lit thy torch benign Within the city of the Constantine!
THE MONASTERY OF SANTA SABA.
"The monastery of St. Saba is in the wilderness of Ziph, and a few hours' distance from Jerusalem. A more dreary situation cannot be conceived; its walls, towers, and terraces, are on the brink of precipices; but could the world afford a more sublime or memorable home? We sat down and gazed
on the deep glen of the Kedron far beneath--the wilderness on every side, where David fled from the pursuit of Saul; and the Dead Sea and its sublime shores full in front, illumined by the setting sun. It was founded by this saint in the middle of the fourth century, and has ever since been a religious retreat
of great fame. St. Saba died when nearly a hundred years of age. Feeling his end approach, he implored to be carried to his beloved retreat, that his bones might rest there; and here they have been preserved to this day."
SAINT Saba's hours were drawing to their close;
"There have I gathered for my latest need,
"And I would see, before mine eyes grow dim, The mountains and the Dead Sea's desert shore; And I would hear the brethren's vesper-hymn Chime to the Kedron's melody once more!
"Oh friends, the Saviour in the desert-place, Sustained the fainting multitude with bread; And in my mountain-cavern, with his grace Have I, his humblest little one, been fed.
"The voice of God, while I was yet a child,
I left my father's house, and in the wild
"Upon the fourth I found an ancient man
"At sight of me he slowly raised his head,
And gazed upon me with a kindling eye;
"Tis well; I knew that thou would'st come!' he said, 'Now list my missioned words, and let me die!'
"Therewith he told a blessed history;
"Of the Lord's friends on earth, how much he told,
"Oh, wondrous knowledge! and from that day forth
"But in the city, 'mid the crush of men,
"For there I laid the old man's bones in peace,
THE GIPSY MOTHER'S SONG. THE merry miller's rosy dame Hath not a wish her heart to tame; The baron's lady, young and fair, Hath gold to spend, and gold to wear; The Queen of England, richer still, Hath all the world to do her will!