As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,

For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls

annoy.

Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of

war.

Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre!
Oh, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array;
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish

spears!

There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our

land!

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his

hand;

And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's enpurpled flood,

And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of

war,

To fight for His own holy Name, and Henry of Navarre.

The King has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant

crest.

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and

high.

Right graciously, he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to

wing,

Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord,

the King!"

"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,

Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks

of war,

And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint André's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the

lance!

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white

crest,

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding

star,

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein,

D'Aumale hath cried for quarter · the Flemish Count is

slain:

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay

gale;

The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail.

And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, "Remember St. Bartholomew ! was passed from man to

man;

But out spake gentle Henry, then,-" No Frenchman is my

foe;

Down, down with every foreigner! but let your brethren

go."

Oh, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre?

Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne ! Weep, weep and rend your hair for those who never shall

return!

Ho! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright!

Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to

night!

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,

And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the

brave.

Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre! T. B. MACAULAY.

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

ABOU BEN ADHEM may his tribe increase
Awoke one night from a sweet dream of peace,
And saw,
within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel, writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,

And, with a look made all of sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest;
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT.

SPEECH ON THE AMERICAN WAR.

I CANNOT, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation. The smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the illusion and the darkness which envelop it, and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin which is brought to our doors.

Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation? Can Parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them! Measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to ruin and contempt! But yesterday, and England might have stood against the world; now, none so poor as to do her reverence.

The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us; supplied with every military store, their interest consulted and their ambassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy! — and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honors the English troops than I do; I know their virtues and their valor; I know they can achieve anything but impossibilities; and I know that the conquest of English America is an impossibility.

You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot: your attempts will be

forever vain and impotent-doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms · never, never, never!

But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the disgrace and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage? - to call into civilized alliance the wild and inhuman inhabitants of the woods?-to delegate to the merciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren? My lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punish

ment.

66

But, my lords, this barbarous measure has been defended, not only on the principles of policy and necessity, but also on those of morality; for it is perfectly allowable," says Lord Suffolk, "to use all the means which God and Nature have put into our hands." I am astonished, I am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear them avowed in this House, or in this country!

My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much upon your attention, but I cannot repress my indignation. I feel myself impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon as members of this House, as men, as Christian men, to protest against such horrible barbarity. "That God and Nature have put into our hands!" What ideas of God and Nature that noble lord may entertain, I know not; but I know that such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity.

What! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and Nature

to the massacres of the Indian scalping-knife! - to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drinking the blood of his mangled victims! Such notions shock