TOLL, THEN, NO MORE! Nor by the Scheldt, nor far off Zuyder Zee; And here, in broad, bright day! Toll! Roland, toll! For not by night awaits A brave foe at the gates, But Treason stalks abroad-inside! at noon! Toll Thy alarm is not too soon! To arms! Ring out the Leader's call! Re-echo it from east to west, Till every dauntless breast Swell beneath plume and crest! Till swords from scabbards leap! What tears can widows weep Less bitter than when brave men fall? Toll! Roland, toll! Till cottager from cottage wall Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun, Ere half of Freedom's work was done! Till son, in memory of his sire, Toll! Roland, toll! Till volunteers find out the art Toll! Roland, toll! Stands to this hour, TOLL for the dead, toll, toll! No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout. For they the pearly gates have entered in, And they no more shall sin, Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring! Toll for the living, toll! No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout, For they do His work tho' midst toil and din, They, too, the goal shall win, Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring! Toll for the coming, toll! No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout, For it is theirs to conquer, theirs to win The final entering in, Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring! Toll, then, no more, ye bells! No, no! Ring out, O bells, ring out and shout: The Was, the Is, the Shall Be, and all men Are in His hand! Amen! Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring! And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges | Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, Come over, come over to me. Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys, And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days. “Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily While a boy listened alone: Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily All by himself on a stone. Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over, And mine, they are yet to be; But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? No listening, no longing, shall aught, aught dis- Perhaps thou wert a priest, if so, my struggles Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles. Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But prithee tell us something of thyself, Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, What hast thou seen, numbered? what strange adventures Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis; And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled; Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face? What was thy name and station, age and race? Statue of flesh, - immortal of the dead! Why should this worthless tegument endure, In living virtue, that when both must sever, HORACE SMITH. All that I know about the town of Homer Is that they scarce would own him in his day, Had they foreseen the fuss since made about him. -- He says that men were once more big and bony For this lean hand did one day hurl the lance This heart has throbbed at tales of love and woe; These shreds of raven hair once set the fashion; This withered form inspired the tender passion. In vain; the skilful hand and feelings warm, The foot that figured in the bright quadrille, The palm of genius and the manly form, All bowed at once to Death's mysterious will, Who sealed me up where mummies sound are sleeping, ANSWER OF THE MUMMY AT BELZO- In cerecloth and in tolerable keeping; NI'S EXHIBITION. Ay, gaslights! Mock me not, -we men of yore | Till thou wert carved and decorated thus, What time Elijah to the skies ascended, Or David reigned in holy Palestine, Beneath the lid of this emblazoned shrine, Thebes from her hundred portals filled the plain As armies, priests, and crowds bewailed in chorus - Thus to thy second quarry did they trust Thee and the Lord of all the nations round. Grim King of Silence! Monarch of the Dust! Embalmed, anointed, jewelled, sceptred, crowned, Here did he lie in state, cold, stiff, and stark, A leathern Pharaoh grinning in the dark. Thus ages rolled, but their dissolving breath Could only blacken that imprisoned thing Which wore a ghastly royalty in death, As if it struggled still to be a king; The Persian conqueror o'er Egypt poured ADDRESS TO THE ALABASTER SAR- The steel-clad horseman, --the barbarian horde, COPHAGUS LATELY DEPOSITED IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM. THOг alabaster relic! while I hold My hand upon thy sculptured margin thrown, Let me recall the scenes thou couldst unfold, Mightst thou relate the changes thou hast known, Music and men of every sound and hue, Priests, archers, eunuchs, concubines, and brutes,— Gongs, trumpets, cymbals, dulcimers, and lutes. Then did the fierce Cambyses tear away The ponderous rock that sealed the sacred tomb; Then did the slowly penetrating ray Redeem thee from long centuries of gloom, And lowered torches flashed against thy side For thou wert primitive in thy formation, tion. Yes, thou wert present when the stars and skies How many thousand ages from thy birth Plucked from his grave, with sacrilegious taunt, The features of the royal corpse they scanned :Dashing the diadem from his temple gaunt, They tore the sceptre from his graspless hand, And on those fields, where once his will was law, Left him for winds to waste and beasts to gnaw. Some pious Thebans, when the storm was past, Unclosed the sepulchre with cunning skill, And nature, aiding their devotion, cast Over its entrance a concealing rill. Then thy third darkness came, and thou didst sleep Twenty-three centuries in silence deep. SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, The dancing pair that simply sought renown, These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms, but all these charms are fled ! Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man; For him light Labor spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train And every pang that folly pays to pride. |