NO HOME for them—that magic word

Which, fraught with love, and joy, and rest, Whenever and wherever heard,

Unseals pure fountains in the breast,
No home for them; for, far away,
The dwellings of their kindred stood,
Beyond the swelling ocean's play,
Far from their forest solitude.

They sought a strange and wintry shore,
Yet love burned brightly in their breast;
They shrank not when the mourners bore
The weary spirits to their rest;
And oft, when from a savage tongue
Pealed wildly forth the battle cry,
They to their trusting children clung,
And calmly gave themselves to die.

Oh, man, boast not thy "lion heart!
Tell not of proud heroic deed!
Have we not seen thy vaunted art

Fail in the deepest hour of need?"
But, woman's courage! 't is more deep,
More strong, than heart of man can feel,

To save her little ones that sleep,

She bares her bosom to the steel!

Daughters of those, who, long ago,
Dared the dark storm and angry sea,
And walked the desert way of woe,
And pain and trouble, to be free!
Oh, be like them! like them endure,
And bow beneath affliction's rod;
Like them be humble, mild, and pure,
In joy and sorrow, look to God.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.

C. B. SOUTHEY.

TREAD Softly-bow the head;
In reverent silence bow;

No passing bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.

Oh! change!-Oh! wondrous change!

Burst are the prison bars

This moment there, so low,

So agonized, and now

Beyond the stars!

'Oh! change-stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod!

The Sun eternal breaks.

The new immortal wakes

Wakes with his God!

ALBUQUERQUE.

R. DAWES.

A STORM was on the deep;
And lightning, in its wrath,
Called the darkness from its sleep,
In the fierce tornado's path:

The

འག

very hoses knew his weight,
When he was in the rear,

And wished his box a Christmas-box,
To come but once a year.

Alas! against the shafts of love

What armor can avail?

Soon Cupid sent an arrow through

His scarlet coat of mail.

The bar-maid of "The Crown" he loved,
From whom he never ranged;
For, though he changed his horses there,
His love he never changed.

He thought her fairest of all fares,
So fondly love prefers;

And often, among twelve outsides,
No outside deemed like hers.

One day, as she was sitting down
Beside the porter pump,

He came and knelt, with all his fat,
And made an offer plump.

Said she, "My taste will never learn
To like so huge a man ;

So I must beg you will come here
As little as you can."

But still he stoutly urged his suit,
With vows, and sighs, and tears,
Yet could not pierce her heart, although
He drove the "Dart" for years.

In vain he wooed in vain he sued.

The maid was cold and proud,

And sent him off to Coventry,
While on the way to Stroud.

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He fretted all the way to Stroud,
And thence all back to town;
The course of love was never smooth,
So his went up and down.

At last, her coldness made him pine
To merely bones and skin;
But still he loved like one resolved
To love through thick and thin.

"O, Mary! view my wasted back,
And see my dwindled calf!
Though I have never had a wife,
I've lost my better half!"

Alas! in vain he still assailed,
Her heart withstood the dint;
Though he had carried sixteen stone,
He could not move a flint!

Worn out, at last he made a vow,
To break his being's link,
For he was so reduced in size,
At nothing he could shrink.

Now, some will talk in water's praise,
And waste a deal of breath;

But John, though he drank nothing else,
He drank himself to death.

The cruel maid, that caused his love,
Found out the fatal close,

For, looking in the butt, she saw

The butt end of his woes.

Some say his spirit haunts the Crown;

But that is only talk;

For, after riding all his life,

His ghost objects to walk.

THE POLISH EXILES.

MISS PARDOE.

FORTH Went they from their fatherland,
A fallen and fettered race,
To find upon a distant strand
Their dark abiding place.

Forth went they;-not as freemen go,
With firm and fearless eye;
But with the bowéd mien of woe,
As men go forth to die.

The aged in their silver hair,

The young in manhood's might,
The mother with her infant care,
The child in wild affright;
Forth went they all- a pallid band!
With many an anguished start;
The chains lay heavy on their hand,
But heavier on their heart!

No sounds disturbed the desert air,
But those of bitter woe,

Save when, at times, reëchoed there
The curses of the foe-

When hark! another cry pealed out-
A cry of idiot glee,

Answered and heightened by the shout
Of the fierce soldiery!

"T was childhood's voice! but, ah! how wild, How demon-like, its swell!

The mother shrieked to hear her child
Give forth that soul-fraught yell!

And fathers wrung their fettered hands
Beneath their maddening woe,

While shouted out their infant bands,
Shrill chorus to the foe!

And curses deep and low were said,

Whose murmurs reached to heaven; Thick sighs were heaved, hot tears were shed, And women's hearts were riven,

As, heedless of their present woes,

The children onward trod,

And

sang; and their young A vengeance cry to God!

voices rose