Dead, dead and stark, and smear'd with gore,
Beneath a smouldering heap,

Wife, daughters, and sons, and the grandsire hoar,
On death's red ashes sleep!

Then burst in agony, rage, and pain,

That noble broken heart;

And under his beetled brows like rain
The spouting tears did start:

And down like a pole-axed bull he drops,
And weak on the threshold lies;
The wellspring of life freezes and stops-
He dies-the hero dies!

But, look! a light on his royal brow,
A strange prophetic flame—
The spirit of Vola over him now

In solemn calmness came,

He saw the Gael at the gates of Rome,
And carnage on the track,

And Britain's spoilers hurrying home
To drive the terror back,-

He saw in the midst of his native plains
Fair-lee's polluted hill,-

Where Rome so long should forge her chains

To bind the Briton still,

He saw it ruin'd, and burnt, and bare ;

And-from one mite of gold,

He saw a Saxon stranger there

Read off this tale of old!

Haha !

A COURSING CANZONET.

Cool and sweet is the breath of the morn, And dew-beads glitter on thistle and thorn; And linnets and larks are beginning to trill Their psalm to the sun just over the hill, And all things pleasant, and pure, and fair Bathe in the balmy morning air,

Hist! the turf is under thy feet;
Over it steadily,—sure and fleet!
Steadily, Wonder!—quietly now;
Why, what a hot little fool art thou!
Wild and wanton !-it's very unkind
To leave poor Gael so panting behind ;-

Ho! my greyhound! Soho!-a hare !
Good dog after her!-soft and fair;

:

Off does she fly, and away does he bound,Glorious! how we are skimming the ground! Heels above head,-over she goes!

And pussey squeals at my greyhound's nose.

Home hark back!-the games are done,
Though Cæsar's self has barely begun :
Look! let him change the spur for the pen,
To hunt and to harry the hearts of men,—
Possibles do, and impossibles dare,
And gallop in spirit everywhere!

Charity!

A WORD TO THE RICH.

(Written by request, for the Liverpool Hospitals, Aug. 1849.)

For Charity's sake! to the poor of the land

Your generous blessing extend,

While Need and Affliction with suppliant hand
Solicit your help as a friend ;

Remember, the Master of these, as of us,

On earth was a brother in need,
And all that ye give to the desolate thus,
To Him do ye give it indeed!

To Him!-in His Judgment, a fiery sword
Hath smitten, and scatter'd, and slain :

To Him!-in His Mercy, the sword of the LORD
Returns to its scabbard again :

To Him! for the GOD who was pleased to be Man,
In reason expects of His kin

To strive against evil, and do what we can
To chase away sorrow and sin.

O Britain! dear home of the good and the great,
The kind, and the fair, and the free,—

The nations applaud thee for strength and for state,
And marvel thy glory to see:

Because-through the length and the breadth of thy land

True Charity scatters her seed;

And Heaven still strengthens the heart and the hand

That blesses a brother in need!

Aye, Britain! the destitute's refuge and rest,
O'ershadow'd with olives and palms,

In war thou art prosper'd, in peace thou art blest,
Because of thy prayers and thine alms:

The soft rain of heaven makes fertile thy fields,
And so in sweet incense again

It rises like dew o'er the harvest it yields,
To solace the children of pain.

Then hasten, ye wealthy! to bless and be blest,
By giving to God of His own:

He asks you to help the diseased and distrest,
He pleads in the pang and the moan!

In vain ?-can it be ?-shall the SAVIOUR in vain
Petition His pensioners thus ?

Oh no! with all gladness we give Him again
What He giveth gladly to us!

The Manchester Athenæum.

(Stanzas, solicited, in aid of its Liabilities, Oct. 1850.)

A temple of generous health,

To gladden the spirit of youth;

A mine of intelligent wealth,

A treasury teeming with truth,— Come, help in so happy a work, Such pleasure and gain to secure, Gain, where little evil can lurk,

And pleasure can only be pure!

How wise it must be and how blest,
After the toils of the day,
That body and mind be at rest,

Whiling their sorrows away;
Consider how grateful a thing
Such rational solace to find,
And Ignorance gladly to bring
To feast upon food for the Mind!

Remember, how wise for the young
So purely their evenings to spend
The poets and sages among,

With every good book for a friend!
Remember, how well for the old

To rub the dull heart from its rust,
That earthly pollutions and gold
Drag it not down to the dust!

Then freely and frankly make haste
To help, where your help is so worth;
And let not this temple of taste,

So full of the treasures of earth,
Through negligence go to decay;
But rather in truth and in deed,
May Manchester glory to-day,

That Britain has bid her God-speed!