Brought roses to her lips, her cheek;
As music stayed to hear her speak!

And yet she wept, as one

Whose happiness was o'er ;

The sunlight of whose soul was gone,
Whose life might bloom no more;

Whose years had faded fast, though few ;
Like leaves whose veins ran lightning through!

For he-her loved, her lord,

Her husband, whose renown

Lent fame to Britain's state and sword,
Shed glory o'er its crown-

Learnt that the debt which nations owe
Finds cancel brief in headsman's blow!

He whose heroic hand

Proved ever first to guard
The bulwarks of his native land,
Unmindful of reward,

Save that illustrious spirits claim
Within the godlike rolls of Fame!—

He, the observed of all

Amidst the courtly throng,

Whom laurelled Spenser once did call
The nightingale of song;

Whose gifts to win all hearts appear'd—

Was't he the rabble scoffed and jeered?

THE WIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 73

Oh, noble to the last,

And to his death resigned,

He smiled upon the world, and passed
To seek that World of Mind,
That bright, that intellectual spring,
Hid 'neath the Everlasting wing!

Nor murmur, nor complaint,

Nor sigh for hopes decayed,

Nor did his manly heart once faint,

When grasp'd the headsman's blade! "'Tis a sharp medicine to endure," but rarely fails to cure!"

He said,

Long past the hour his head
Fell gory 'neath the steel,

His wife yet listened for his tread;
Some hearts would surely feel!

All were not hardened as the throne;
Some rescue yet would save her own!

And still the castle-tower

She paced each dreary day;
She knew, she said, it was his hour;
He would not long delay:

He loved his child with love too strong,
Living or dead, to quit them long!

And thus she hourly pined,

Till winter o'er her breast

G

Shed paleness, and her bloom declined

Like rose some foot hath press'd.
The light which could that bloom renew
Shone only 'midst the angel dew!

How, like a broken reed,

All worldly trust departs!
There is no hope for earthly need,

No rest for weary hearts,

Save His whose trust the Cross hath blest,
Eternal Hope! immortal Rest!

SOLITUDE.

BY CALDER CAMPBELL.

Nay, leave me not alone to-night-alone With my dark heart to commune for I feel Wild thoughts within me I would fain conceal From mine own scrutiny; and, wert thou gone, (Like weeds that spring not where the sun is known,

But start to sudden growth in darksome places!)
Foul Phantasy its mirror would reveal,

To image forth before me fearful faces
I loathe to look upon, yet cannot flee
When they upon my loneliness look in,
With busy voices breeding fast disquiet
Betwixt my Soul and Sense! Then stay with me,
To keep my thoughts secure from sinful riot,
For times there are when Solitude is sin!

THE SCHOOLMASTER ON BOARD.

BY EDWARD HOWARD,

AUTHOR OF RATTLIN, THE REEFER,'
,"" JACK ASHORE," &c.

Ir was just at the close of the long war, in 1814, and when, indeed, all the naval part of the struggle had some time ceased, that one of our most victorious admirals, whom we shall adumbrate under the name of Lord Luffandoff, repaired to Portsmouth, in order to hoist his flag, blue at the main, on board the Assam of 120 guns. His lordship was going out to take the command on the Mediterranean station.

Now, as the fighting was all over, the station pleasant, and, moreover, as it was well known that the Assam would have nothing to do but make trips of pleasure from one seaport to another, for instance, from Lisbon to Gibraltar, from Gibraltar to Marseilles, thence, perhaps, to Genoa, Naples, Palermo, and other tempting localities of ancient and modern fame, staying months at each place, exhausting its gaieties, and astonishing its natives considering all this, it is not surprising that the quarter-deck was well manned, and that the cockpit overflowed with young gentlemen,