Daniel his name—all hope is on him placed,
To bring the captive to the banquet haste.
He comes-serene and calm, with princely gait,
He comes the herald of approaching fate!
All eyes are turn'd on that intrepid man,
A thrill of terror through the boldest ran,

And as they gazed upon his God-like mien,

Deep silence reign'd where high carouse had been ; While, as he dauntless spoke, there seem'd to spread Angelic glory round his radiant head.

"Listen, proud monarch! for to me is given,
To read the sacred oracles of Heaven;
That spirit-hand, those characters of flame,
May well thy arrogance and vaunting tame,
May well transfix thy heart with icy fear,
And make thee own, appall'd, 'a God is here!'
This they declare-Thy kingdom's pass'd away,
Gone is thy grandeur and imperial sway;

Weigh'd in the balance, thou art wanting found,
And in thy room another shall be crown'd.'
O king! repentance is, alas! too late,
Oft-slighted mercy may no longer wait;

Vengeance, dire vengeance rules this awful hour,

And sink thou must 'neath conquering Cyrus' power!

Time hurries by,* on noiseless rapid wing,
One of God's angels scarce so fleet a thing;
And thou must change this revel for the gloom
And the dread stillness of the sullen tomb;

Must quit a lovely mistress' gentle clasp,
For death's relentless, stern, and icy grasp;
Must leave the splendid couch with purple spread,
For some dark nameless grave's ignoble bed;
Must see thy princes slain before thine eyes,
Thyself the last and saddest sacrifice!
'Tis hard to die at such a time as this,
Amid such choice provocatives of bliss,
'Tis hard indeed,-yet nothing may repel
The wrath of God, thou meritest so well!
Not all thy satraps that in splendour here
And brilliant pomp encircling thee appear,
Though sworn and eager in his cause to bleed,
Could shield their sovereign in this hour of need!

Thy gods should aid thee at this time of woe,

But want the power, and this thou soon must know;

Glittering in radiant gold their forms I see,

*“Time_measures not the tides of soul."—Czerni

George, by the Rev. G. CROLY.

THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES.

WHEN from the hand of God

Arose this beauteous earth,

The morning stars exulting sang
Over the gladsome birth,-

Swell'd the full note each orb on high,

'Mid regions of immensity.

And is for ever mute

That sweet and touching strain?

Will songs celestial never more

Strike mortal ear again?

And must we view heaven's face so fair,

To wonder at the silence there?

Though centuries have bow'd

To time's all-ruthless sway,

And but their memory survives
Since the creation-day;

Still as of old a voice is given

To the far-glittering hosts of heaven.

The Music of the Spheres.

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When all is hush'd at eve,

And calm is nature's breast

When darkness flings her mantling robe

Over a world at rest,

And silence, gloom, and peace aright,

Reign triple regents of the night :

Then with a heart unstain'd

By passions base and blind,
And freed from low and sordid care,
With pure and guiltless mind:

The truthful son of science hears
The wondrous music of the spheres.

Aye, as in mystic course

The glittering planets wheel,

They pour a flood of harmony,

Which only few can feel:

That music strange and passing sweet
Doth mortal bosoms seldom greet.

What longing doth it wake

To track the ambient skies,

And mixing with the starry crowd

Pass heaven's dread boundaries,—

H

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The Music of the Spheres.

Transported with the exulting lay,

A rapt and willing listener stay!

Still symphony divine,

Ye gleaming hosts maintain,
As ye your sparkling watches keep
In midnight's tranquil reign ;
Still song from chords angelic raise
To the Eternal's endless praise.