At length, to join their forces they agree,
And straight impetuously they turn the key,
Prepared with mutual fury for the fray.

Our hero, with the firmness of a rock,
Collected to receive the mighty shock,

Uttering the old inquiry, calmly stood.

The name of Thompson raised the storm so high,
He deemed it then the safest plan to fly,

With "Well, I'll call when you 're in gentler mood."

In short, our hero, with the same intent,

Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went,
So fond of mischief was the wicked wit:
They throw out water; for the watch they call;
But King expecting, still escapes from all.

Monsieur at last was forced his house to quit.

It happened that our wag, about this time,
On some fair prospect sought the Eastern clime;
Six lingering years were there his tedious lot.
At length, content, amid his ripening store,
He treads again on Britain's happy shore,
And his long absence is at once forgot.

To London, with impatient hope, he flies,
And the same night, as former freaks arise,

He fain must stroll, the well-known haunt to trace. "Ah! here's the scene of frequent mirth," he said; "My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead.

Egad, I'll knock, and see who holds the place."

With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roår,
And while he eager eyes the opening door,

Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal?
Why, e'en our little Frenchman, strange to say!
He took his old abode that very day,-

Capricious turn of sportive Fortune's wheel!

Without one thought of the relentless foe,
Who, fiend-like, haunted him so long ago,

Just in his former trim he now appears;
The waistcoat and the nightcap seemed the same;
With rushlight, as before, he creeping came,
And King's detested voice astonished hears.

As if some hideous spectre struck his sight,
His senses seemed bewildered with affright,
His face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore;
Then, starting, he exclaimed, in rueful strain,
Begar! here's Monsieur Tonson come again !"
Away he ran,-and ne'er was heard of more.

66

ROLL CALL.

"CORPORAL Green!" the Orderly cried;
"Here!" was the answer, loud and clear,

From the lips of the soldier who stood near —
And "Here!" was the word the next replied.

66

Cyrus Drew !"-then a silence fell,This time no answer followed the call; Only his rear-man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded, he could not tell.

There they stood in the failing light,

These men of battle, with grave, dark looks,
As plain to be read as open books,

While slowly gathered the shades of night.

The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood,
And down in the corn where the poppies grew
Were redder stains than the poppies knew;
And crimson-dyed was the river's flood.

For the foe had crossed from the other side
That day, in the face of a murderous fire
That swept them down in its terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.

"Herbert Kline !"

At the call there came

Two stalwart soldiers into the line,

Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.

"Ezra Kerr !"-and a voice answered, "Here!" "Hiram Kerr !"-but no man replied.

They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed, And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.

"Ephraim Deane !"-then a soldier spoke :

66

Deane carried our Regiment's colors," he said; "Where our Ensign was shot, I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

"Close to the road-side his body lies;

I paused a moment and gave him drink;
He murmured his mother's name, I think,
And Death came with it and closed his eyes."

"T was a victory; yes, but it cost us dear,—
For that company's roll, when called at night,
Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered, "Here!"
N. G. Shepherd.

GOD.

The following poem is a translation from the Russian. It has been translated into Japanese, by order of the Emperor, and is hung up, embroidered with gold, in the temple of Jeddo. It has also been translated into the Chinese and Tartar languages, written on a piece of rich silk, and suspended in the Imperial palace at Pekin.

O THоU eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside!
Being above all beings! Three-in-one !

Whom none can comprehend, and none explore;
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone;
Embracing all-supporting-ruling o'er-
Being whom we call God-and know no more!
In its sublime research, philosophy

May measure out the ocean deep-may count
The sands or the sun's rays-but God! for Thee
There is no weight nor measure;-none can mount
Up to Thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark;
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high-
E'en like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call,
First chaos, then existence;-Lord! on Thee
Eternity had its foundation ;—all

Sprung forth from Thee;—of light, joy, harmony,

Sole origin;-all life, all beauty, Thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create;

Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine;
Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious,
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround;
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze,
Se suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee,

And as the spangles in the sunny rays
Shine around the silver snow, the pageantry
Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.
A million torches lighted by Thy hand
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss;
They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command,
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.

What shall we call them? Pyres of crystal light-
A glorious company of golden streams-
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright-
Suns lighting systems with their joyful beams?
But Thon to these art as the noon to night.

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in Thee is lost ;

What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?
And what am I then? Heaven's unnumbered host,
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,

Is but an atom in the balance weighed
Against Thy greatness,-is a cipher brought
Against infinity! What am I then? Naught!
Naught! But the effluence of Thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too;
Yes, in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,
As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.

Naught! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly
Eager toward Thy presence; for in Thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high
Even to the throne of Thy divinity.

I am, O God! and surely Thou must be!
Thou art directing, guiding all, Thou art!
Direct my understanding then to Thee;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart;
Though but an atom midst immensity,
Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand!
I hold a middle rank, 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,

Close to the realm where angels have their birth,
Just on the boundaries of the spirit land!

The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is spirit-Deity!

I can command the lightning and am dust!
A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a god!

Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously
Constructed and conceived? Unknown! this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy;
For from itself alone it could not be !
Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word
Created me! Thou source of life and good!
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!

Thy light, Thy love, in the bright plenitude,
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond the little sphere,
Even to its source-to Thee-its author there.
Oh thoughts ineffable! Oh visions blest!
Though worthless our conception all of Thee;
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to Thy Deity.

God! thus alone my lonely thoughts can soar;
Thus seek Thy presence-Being wise and good,
Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore;
And, when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.

Derzhavin

WHICH COULD I SPARE?

I SOMETIMES Wonder, that if Death should come,
With stealthy tread, unto my happy home,
To tell me, that of those I love so well,
One, in his silent, shadowy realm must dwell;

No hope, no refuge, from his fatal dart;

Which could I yield him first? oh! loving heart,
Which of mine own, my blessed household band
Could I resign? though for the better land.

Not he to whom my early vows were given,

Whose love has made this earth seem like a Heaven.
Oh no! oh no! the dark and cheerless tomb
May not enclose him, with its voiceless gloom !

Not she, who first made glad my parent-heart;
Our first to love, of our young life a part;
Whose opening bloom has blest us day by day;
Oh, Death!-I pray thee take not her away.

Nor him, of noble soul and manners mild,
Whom one short year we've loved to call our child;
Oh! no-not him, that high and loving heart
I fain would shield, from thy unerring dart.

Our absent child? oh, no! destroyer, no!-
Near her bright path, I pray thee do not go :
We wait to welcome her around our hearth,
And long to listen to her voice of mirth.