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APOSTROPHIE TO THE QUEEN OF FRANCE.

(BURKE.) It is now sixteen, or seventeen years', / since I saw the queen of France, | then the dauphiness, , at Versailles'; and surely, never lighted on this orb, | (which she hardly seemed to touch) a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, , decorating, and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move, in – glittering like the morning star-full of life', and splen dor, I and joy. I 'Oh what a revolu tion ! and what a heart musi I have, to contemplate without emotion, that elevation, and that fall !.

* Little did I dream', when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, i that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace', concealed in that bo,som . little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men', in a nation of men of honor, I and of cavaliers. | thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look', that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of soph isters, economists, and calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever. 1

Never, never more,' shall we behold tient generous loyalty to rank and sex ,- that proud submission,-that dignified obedience thal subordination of the heart which kept alive, even in servitude itse.f',' the spirit of an exalted free doin. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly Sentiment, and heroic en terprise, I is gone! it is gone, - that sensibility of principle, - that chastity of honor, which fel a stain like a wound, which inspired cour age' whilst il mitigated ferocity, which enno bled whatever it touched ; 1 and under which, vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its gross ness.,

BATTLE OF WARSAW.

(CAMPBELL.) O sacred Truth! thy triumph ceas'd' awhile, And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile', / When leagued Oppression pour'd to northern wars, Her whisker'd pandoors,' and her fierce hussars,' | Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Peal'd her loud druin, and twang'd her trumpet-horn : Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van' | Presaging wrath to Poland, and to man ! | Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd, i Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ru in laid - 1 O Heav'n! he cried, my bleeding country, save!! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave' ? What though destruction sweep these lovely plainsRise', fellow-men! our country yet remains ! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live - with her to die !| He said and on the rampart-heights, array d ! His trusty warriors, | few, but undismay'd ; 1 Firm-paced, and slow, a horrid front they form; | Sull as the breeze', but dreadful as the storin ; 1 Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, Revenge', or death, the watchword, and reply: ; | Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm', / And the loud tocsin told their last alarmi In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few ! | From rank to rank, your volley'd thunder few: O bloodiest picture in the book of Time !! Sarma tia fell, : unwept', without a crime ; 1 Found nor a generous friends, ' a pitying foe', / Strength in her arms, , nor mercy in her wo!

• Pandour (French), Hungarian soldier. Hůz-zår, one of the Slungarian horsemen, so called from the shout tbey generally make, : the first onset.

Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp, the shatter'd spear,
Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career : 1
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell. .
And Freedom shriek'd, as Kosciusko fell !
The sun went down ; nor ceas'd the carnage there', ;
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air :
On Prague's proud arch' | the fires of ruia glow, 1
His blood-dy'd waters murmuring far below : |
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away',
Bursts the wild cry of horror, and dismay, ! |
Hark'! | as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! |
Earth shook', red meteors flash'd along the sky', |
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry,! |
Departed spirits of the mighty dead! |
Ye that at Marathon, and Leuc'tra bled ! |
Friends of the world'! | restore your swords to man', /
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van. ! |
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood', atone',
And make her arm puissant as your own, |
O ! once again to Freedom's cause return', i
Thou patriot Tell'— , thou Bruce of Bannockburn! |

BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

(BYRON.) There was a sound of revelry by night'; 1 And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her beauty, and her chivalry; I and bright | The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave men;/ A thousanıl hearts beat happily; and, when Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes' look'd love to eyes which spake again';:

And all went merry as a marriage-bell - | But hush !|hark !|a deep sound strikes like a rising knell'!!

• Proud arch; not prow-darch'. "Soft eyes; not sof-lies.

Did ye not hear it? - No;l'twas but the wind, i
Or the car' rattling o'er the stony street— 1
On with the dance' ! | let joy be unconfin'd'; /
No sleep till morn', / when Youth, and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours, with flying feel - 1
But hark ! – that heavy sound breaks in once more',
As if the clouds its echo would repeat'; 1

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Arm!, arın'! it is — it is the cannon's opening roar!

Within a window'd niche of that high hall,
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first', amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear: ; |
And, when they smild, because he deem'd it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well',
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, 1

And rous'd the vengeance, blood alone could quell..! He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then, and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress',
And checks all pale, which but an hour ago,
Blush'd at the praise of their own love liness. |
And there were sudden part'ings, ' such as press
The life from out young hearts', and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, l
Since upon night so sweet (such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste': the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed', !
And swiftly forming in the ranks of wari; 1
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ! |
And near the beat of the alarming drum'!
Rous'd up the soldier ere the morning star'; /

While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb., 1
Or whispering, with wbile lips, -- A. The foe!. They

come! they come !"

'And wild and high the “Cameron's gathering” rose! | ?The war-note of Lochiel', / which Albyn's hills / Have heard, and heard too, have her Saxon foes! :- 1 How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, i Savage, and shrill.! | But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers, With the fierce native daring | which instils i

The stirring meinory of a thousand years. ; | And Evan's, Donald's fame, rings in each clansman's

ears, ! | And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves', | Dewy with nature's tear-drops, | as they pass, I Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, O'er the unreturning brave,- alas! | Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow, | In its next verdure, | when this fiery mass

of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shallmoulder cold, and low .1

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life'; 1
Last eve, in Beauty's circle proudly gay'; 1
The midnight brought the signal sound of strifes ; |
The morn, the marshalling in arms', - | the day, |
Battle's magnificently-stern array, ! |
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay

Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and penti, Rider, and horse', - | friend, | foe', - | in one red

burial blent ! |

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MARCO BOZZARIS.

(HALLECK.) At midnight, in his guarded tent, i

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 1 When Greece, ; her knee in suppliance bent,

Should tremble at his power: 1 • Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminonda' of modern Grice. He fell n a night attack upon the Turkish camp al La-p', the site of the

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