The earth to thee her incense yields, How glorious is thy girdle cast As fresh in yon horizon dark, For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 38. GLENARA. - Thomas Campbell. O! HEARD you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud; In silence they passed over mountain and moor, "And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, "I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; "And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen: Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn'T was the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn: "I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her grief, In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 39. THE O’KAVANAGH. -J. A. Shea. THE Saxons had met, and the banquet was spread, And the banners that hung round the festal that night In came the O'Kavanagh, fair as the morn, Attended alone by his vassal and bard, - In eye, and on lip, his high confidence smiled, So proud, yet so knightly so gallant, yet mild; He moved like a god through the light of that hall, prow, "Come pledge us, lord chieftain! come pledge us!" they cried: Unsuspectingly free to the pledge he replied; And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore,- But, minstrel, why cometh a change o'er thy theme? A kingdom for Angelo's mind, to portray Through the ranks of the Saxon he hewed his red way, -- And now on the Saxons his clansmen advance, Then hurrah! for thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah! WHEN Music, Heavenly maid, was young, Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. With woful measures, wan Despair Low sullen sounds!-his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'T was sad, by fits, - by starts, 't was wild. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still through all her song; A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And longer had she sung Revenge impatient rose. but, with a frown, He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down; The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast, so loud and dread, The doubling drum with furious heat. Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien; While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mixed: And now it courted Love - now, raving, called on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, And, from her wild sequestered seat, In notes, by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole : Love of peace and lonely musing In hollow murmurs died away. But, O! how altered was its sprightly tone, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known! The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: As if he would the charming air repay, 41. THE GREEK AND TURKMAN. — Rev. George Croly. Description of a night attack, by Constantine Palæologus, on a detached camp of Mohammed II., during the siege of Constantinople. THE Turkman lay beside the river; The wind played loose through bow and quiver; The charger on the bank fed free, The shield hung glittering from the tree, The trumpet, shawn, and atabal, Lay screened from dew by cloak and pall, The hordes had marched that burning day. Above them, on the sky of June, hill, brook, tent, and tree. There came a sound 't was like the gush When night-winds shake the rose's bush! There came a sound—'t was like the tread Of wolves along the valley's bed! There came a sound-'t was like the flow Of rivers swoln with melting snow! There came a sound-'t was like the roar "DEATH TO THE TURK!" up rose the yell- |