I'm stripp'd;-'tis raining cats and dogs." "Hush, hush!" quoth Hal; "I'm fast asleep ;" And then he snor'd as loud and deep

66

As a whole company of hogs.

But, harkye, Ben, I'll grant admittance
At the same rate I paid myself."

Nay, master, leave me half the pittance,"
Replied the avaricious elf.

"No all, or none-a full acquittance ;-
The terms, I know, are somewhat high;
But you have fix'd the price, not I-

I won't take less; I can't afford it."

So, finding all his haggling vain,
Ben with an oath and groan of pain

Drew out the guinea, and restor❜d it.
"Surely you'll give me," growl'd th' outwitted
Porter, when again admitted-

"Something, now you've done your joking,
For all this trouble, time, and soaking."
"Oh, surely-surely," Harry said;

"Since, as you urge, I broke your rest,
And you're half drown'd, and quite undress'd,
I'll give you leave to go to bed."

SONG.

(By T. Campbell, esq.)

DRINK ye to her that each loves best,

And if you nurse a flame

That's told but to her mutual breast,
We will not ask her name.

Enough, while memory tranced and glad
Paints silently the fair,

That each should dream of joys he's had,
Or yet may hope to share.

Yet far, far hence be jest or boast
From hallow'd thoughts so dear;
But drink to them that we love most,
As they would love to hear.

SONG.

SONG.

(By T. Campbell, esq.)

EARL March look'd on his dying child,
And smit with grief to view her:
The youth, he cried, whom I exil'd,
Shall be restored to woo her.

She's at the window many an hour

His coming to discover;

And her love look'd up to Ellen's bower,
And she look'd on her lover.

But ah! so pale, he knew her not,
Though her smile on him was dwelling--

And I then forgot-forgot!

It broke the heart of Ellen.

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs,

Her cheek as cold as ashes;

Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes
To lift their silken lashes.

Father Luis de Leon, one of the most learned men of his time, was thrown into prison for his translation of some part of the Scriptures, at that time prohibited. Five years after, he was set at liberty: he resumed the Professor's chair; and when his auditors expected to hear him utter complaints, he commenced his discourse as follows: "Hesterna die dicebam," (as I was saying yesterday), an exordium that evinced his greatness of soul, which his sufferings had not diminished. It will be seen, that the idea of the abovè beautiful Ode is taken from Horace's Prophecy of Nereus; but only the idea, for in poetical fire and imagery, the Spanish is much superior to the Latin Ode.

"In an evil hour dost thou,
Ruthless spoiler, wanton here!
Shouts and clangours even now,
Even now assail my ear:
Shout and sound of clashing shield,
Belted sword and rushing car;

All the frenzy of the field!

All the anarchy of war!

"Oh, what wail and weeping spring

Forth from this, thine hour of mirth!

From yon fair and smiling thing,

Who in evil day had birth!

In an evil day for Spain

Plighted is your guilty troth;

Fatal triumph! costly gain

To the sceptre of the Goth!
"Flames and furies, griefs and broils,
Slaughter, ravage, fierce alarms,
Anguish, and immortal toils,

Thou dost gather to thine arms,—

For thyself and vassals-those

Who the fertile furrow break

Where the stately Ebro flows,

Who their thirst in Douro slake.

"For the throne, the hall, the bower, Murcian lord and Lucian swain,

For the chivalry and flower

Of all sad and spacious Spain! Prompt for vengeance, not for fame, Even now from Cadiz' halls,

On the Moor, in Alla's name,

Hoarse the Count-the Injur'd calls.

"Hark, how frightfully forlorn

Sounds his trumpet to the stars,

Citing Africa's desart-born

To the gonfalon of Mars!

Lo, already loose in air

Floats the standard, peals the gong;

They shall not be slow to dare

Rod'rick's wrath for Julian's wrong.

"See his lance the Arab shake,

Smites the wind, and war demands,

Millions in a moment wake,

Join and spread o'er all the sands; Underneath their sails the sea

Disappears, a hubbub runs

Through the sphere of heaven, a lee,Clouds of dust obscure the sun.

"Swift there mighty ships they climb, Cut the cables, slip from shore;

How the sturdy arms keep time

To the dashing of the oar! Bright the frothy billows burn

Round their cleaving keels, and gales, Breath'd by Eolus astern,

Fill their deep and daring sails.

"Sheer across Alcides strait

He whose voice the floods obey,

With the trident of his state,

Gives the grand Armada way.

In her sweet, seducing arms,

Sinner! dost thou slumber still,

Dull and deaf to the alarms

Of this loud, inrushing ill?

"In the hallow'd Gadite bay

Mark them, mooring from the main ; Rise-take horse-away! away!

Scale the mountain, scour the plain!

Give not pity to thine hand,

Give not pardon to thy spur;

Dart abroad thy thund'ring brand,
Lay bare thy terrible scimetar!

Agony of toil and sweat

The sole recompense must be
Of each horse and horseman yet,
Armed serf and plum'd grandee.
Sullied in thy silver flow,

Stream of proud Sevilla, weep!

Many a broken helm shalt thou
Hurry to the bord'ring deep.

Many a turban and tiar,

Moor and Noble's slaughter'd corse!

Whilst the furies of the war,

Gore your ranks with equal loss.

Five days you dispute the field;

When 'tis sun-rise on the plainsOh, lov'd land! thy doom is seal'd; Madden, madden in thy chains!"

On

ON THE DEATH OF HELEN.

(By B. Barton.)

THERE seems no need of bitter fears for such a one as thou,
And sorrow's fount, which once was sweet, is seal'd unto me now;
Yet, might I shed such tears as fall from childhood's guileless eye,
Dear Helen! o'er thy early grave my own would not be dry.
But could I o'er that distant spot a transient mourner bend,
I would not mourn with childish grief thy life so soon should end;
Reflecting what life is to most, to whom 'tis longest given,
I rather would rejoice in hopes that follow thee to heaven.
"Tis true that what thou yet hadst known of being here below,
Had shone so bright it seem'd to bask in sunshines sweetest glow;
For though some fleecy clouds might shade the landscape's lovely mein,
Yet these, like Summer's morning mists, but beautified the scene.
And thou hadst to thy parent's arms return'd from Albion's shore,
And joy's anticipated cup to them seem'd running o'er ;

And hearts were full, and hopes were high, with future schemes of bliss,
While filial and parental love revived with every kiss.

Such is the picture Fancy gives, with little magic aid;
Nor can its brightest, softest tints for ever sink in shade;
To thee that shadow now is past, and dark as may appear

The cloud that veils thy parents' path, thy name must still be dear.

When spent the agony of grief, may this their solace be,
That many fondly cherish'd hopes had been fulfill'd in thee!

This thought may seem at first to feed the source of saddest tears,
But it may yield unearthly bliss in days of future years.

'Tis something to have held awhile a gem like thee in trust ;
And, though 'tis painful to resign its casket to the dust,

It must be soothing, still-to think it once has been their own,
And that they have but given it up unto its God alone!

For us, dear girl! with whom were pass'd thy childhood's fleeting hours,
Who watch'd with pleasure and with pride thy mind's unfolding powers,
Beneath whose glance, from grace to grace, thy form in stature grew---
For us, to some few ling'ring hopes 'tis hard to bid adieu!

Although we scarce might hope, on earth, to see thy smiles again,
Yet some such thoughts must still survive, where life and love remain:
The first, with thee is closed! the last, shall still thy witness be;
Not e'en thy death can overcast the hours once spent with thee.
But O! amongst us there is one whose hopes were so entwin'd
With thee, thy death scarce scems to leave an earthly joy behind ;
Yet unto HER religion yields hopes more exalted still,
Which, born of Faith, and fix'd on Heaven, God only can fulfil.

EARTHS