Thou heard'st, O God of battle! Thou whose look Knappeth the spear in sunder. In thy strength A youth, thy chosen, laid their champion low. Saul, Saul pursues, o'ertakes, divides the spoil; Wreathes round our necks these chains of gold,

and robes

Our limbs with floating crimson. Then rejoice, Daughters of Israel! from your cymbals shake Sweet clangour, hymning God, the Lord of Hosts!

Ye shout! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain His thousands; David his ten thousands slain.

CROLY.

EXTRACT

FROM "PARIS IN 1815."

BUT stoop or pass the tempest as it will;
The hour is fix'd, when the Resplendent One
Seen by the Prophet in his Patmos isle,
The Seraph, from whose forehead flames the sun,
Shall bid the Evil City be undone ;

Then with one fiery foot upon the shore,

And one upon the ocean's shrinking zone,

With lifted hand and thunder's sevenfold roar, Send up his cry to Heaven, that Time shall be no

more.

Then the Deliverance comes! the crimson scroll
Writ with the madness of six thousand year

Shall be like snow; from Heaven the clouds shall roll;

The Earth no longer be the vale of tears.

Speed on your swiftest wheels, ye golden spheres, To bring the splendours of that morning nigh. Already the forgiven desert bears

The rose; the Pagan lifts th' adoring eye, The exiled Hebrew seeks the daybreak in the sky!

I see the Tribes returning in their pomp; Before them moves the Babe of Bethlehem's star: They come with shout and hymn, and uplift trump

That rang of old on Zion's holy air.

They come from every region wild and far, That wo e'er trod, with every swarthy stain Of storm, and slavery, and barbaric war; Sons of the desert, dungeon, mountain, main Turban'd, and capp'd and helm'd, a countless, boundless train.

One conflict more, the fiercest and the last!
When the old dragon-monarch of the air
His sails upon the groaning storm shall cast,
To fight the final battle of despair.

;

But from the cope of Heaven a sword shall share His fiery pinion in the sight of man.

Down to the depths shall rush th' eclipsing star, Condemn'd the cup of agonies to drain,

A thousand years of night,-wild horror,-scorpion pain!

Ancient of Days! that high above all height Sitt'st on the circle of eternity!

The hour shall come, when all shall know Thy

might,

And earth be heaven, for it shall look on Thee! Blessed the eye which lives that day to see. The grave may wrap me ere its glorious sun : Even, Father, as Thou wilt; but Thou art He, That sees the sparrow perish from Thy throne; Father, in life or death, Thy sovereign will be done.

TO THE MEMORY OF A LADY.

"Thou thy worldly task hast done."

SHAKSPEARE.

HIGH peace to the soul of the dead,

From the dream of the world she has gone! On the stars in her glory to tread,

To be bright in the blaze of the throne.

In youth she was lovely; and Time,

When her rose with the cypress he twined, Left the heart all the warmth of its prime, Left her eye all the light of her mind.

The summons came forth,-and she died!
Yet her parting was gentle, for those
Whom she loved, mingled tears at her side-
Her death was the mourner's repose.

Our weakness may weep o'er her bier,
But her spirit has gone on the wing

To triumph for agony here,

To rejoice in the joy of its King.

THE STARS.

YE stars! bright legions that, before all time, Camped on yon plain of sapphire, what shall tell Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him Who bade thro' heaven your golden chariots wheel?

Yet who earthborn can see your hosts, nor feel Immortal impulses-Eternity?

What wonder if the o'erwrought soul should reel With its own weight of thought, and the wild eye See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory lie?

For ye behold the MIGHTIEST. From that steep What ages have ye worshipped round your KING!

Ye heard his trumpet sounded o'er the sleep Of Earth ;-ye heard the morning angels sing. Upon that orb, now o'er me quivering, The gaze of Adam fix'd from Paradise; The wanderers of the Deluge saw it spring Above the mountain surge, and hailed its rise Lighting their lonely track with Hope's celestial dyes.

On CALVARY shot down that purple eye,
When, but the soldier and the sacrifice
All were departed.—Mount of Agony !
But Time's broad pinion, ere the giant dies,
Shall cloud your dome.-Ye fruitage of the
skies,

Your vineyard shall be shaken!-From your urn
Censers of Heaven! no more shall glory rise,

Your incense to the THRONE!-The Hea

vens shall burn!

For all your pomps are dust, and shall to dust re

turn.

Yet, look ye living intellects.-The trine
Of waning planets speaks it not decay?
Does Schedir's staff of diamond wave no sign?
Monarch of midnight, Sirius, shoots thy ray
Undimm'd, when thrones sublunar pass away?
Dreams!-yet if e'er was graved in vigil wan
Your spell on gem or imaged alchemy,

The sign when empire's hour-glass downwards

ran,

'Twas on that arch, graved on that brazen talisman.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

THE CAMERONIAN BANNER.

O BANNER! fair Banner! a century of wo
Has flowed on thy people since thou wert laid low:
Hewn down by the godless, and sullied and shorn,
Defiled with base blood, and all trodden and torn!
Thou wert lost, and John Balfour's bright steel-
blade in vain

Shed their best blood as fast as moist April sheds rain

Young, fierce, gallant Hackstoun, the river in flood Sent rejoicing to sea with a tribute of blood;