TO GIULIO REGONDI.- O YE HOURS.

So let it be received!.

a soldier's hand

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Bears to the breast of no ungenerous land
A seed of foreign shores. O'er this fair clime,
Since Tara heard the harp of ancient time,
Hath song held empire; then, if not with fame,
Let the green isle with kindness bless his aim,
The joy, the power, of kindred song to spread,
Where once that harp "the soul of music shed!"

TO GIULIO REGONDI,

THE BOY GUITARIST.

BLESSING and love be round thee still, fair boy!
Never may suffering wake a deeper tone,
Than genius now, in its first fearless joy,

Calls forth exulting from the chords which own Thy fairy touch! Oh! may'st thou ne'er be taught The power whose fountain is in troubled thought!

For in the light of those confiding eyes,

And on the ingenuous calm of that clear brow, A dower, more precious e'en than genius lies,

A pure mind's worth, a warm heart's vernal glow! God, who hath graced thee thus, oh, gentle child, Keep 'midst the world thy brightness undefiled!

O YE HOURS.

O YE hours! ye sunny hours!
Floating lightly by,

Are ye come with birds and flowers, Odours and blue sky?

"Yes, we come, again we come,
Through the wood-paths free;
Bringing many a wanderer home
With the bird and bee."

O ye hours! ye sunny hours!
Are ye wafting song?

Doth wild music stream in showers,
All the groves among?

"Yes, the nightingale is there
While the starlight reigns,
Making young leaves and sweet air
Tremble with her strains."

O ye hours! ye sunny hours!
In your silent flow,

Ye are mighty, mighty powers!

Bring ye bliss or woe?

"Ask not this-oh! seek not this!

Yield your hearts awhile

To the soft wind's balmy kiss,

And the heavens' bright smile.

"Throw not shades of anxious thought O'er the glowing flowers!

We are come with sunshine fraught, Question not the hours!"

THE FREED BIRD.

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THE FREED BIRD.

RETURN, return, my bird!

I have dress'd thy cage with flowers, 'Tis lovely as a violet bank

In the heart of forest bowers.

"I am free, I am free-I return no more!
The weary time of the cage is o'er;
Through the rolling clouds I can soar on high,
The sky is around me-the blue bright sky!

"The hills lie beneath me, spread far and clear, With their growing heath-flowers and bounding deer, I see the waves flash on the sunny shore

I am free, I am free-I return no more!"

Alas, alas! my bird!

Why seek'st thou to be free?

Wert thou not bless'd in thy little bower,
When thy song breathed nought but glee?

"Did my song of the summer breathe nought but glee?
Did the voice of the captive seem sweet to thee?
-O! hadst thou known its deep meaning well,
It had tales of a burning heart to tell!

"From a dream of the forest that music sprang, Through its notes the peal of a torrent rang; And its dying fall, when it sooth'd thee best, Sigh'd for wild-flowers and a leafy nest."

Was it with thee thus, my bird?

Yet thine eye flash'd clear and bright;
I have seen the glance of sudden joy
In its quick and dewy light.

"It flash'd with the fire of a tameless race,

With the soul of the wild wood, my native place! With the spirit that panted through heaven to soarWoo me not back-I return no more!

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My home is high, amidst rocking trees,

My kindred things are the star and the breeze,
And the fount uncheck'd in its lonely play,
And the odours that wander afar away!"

Farewell-farewell, then, bird!

I have call'd on spirits gone,

And it may be they joy'd, like thee, to part— Like thee, that wert all my own!

"If they were captives, and pined like me,
Though love may guard them, they joy'd to be free;
They sprang from the earth with a burst of power,
To the strength of their wings, to their triumph's hour!

"Call me not back when the chain is riven,
When the way of the pinion is all through heaven!
Farewell!-with my song through the clouds I soar,
I pierce the blue skies-I am earth's no more!"

MARGUERITE OF FRANCE.

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MARGUERITE OF FRANCE.'

"Thou falcon-hearted dove."

COLERIDGE.

THE Moslem spears were gleaming

Round Damietta's towers,

Though a Christian banner from her wall

Waved free its lily-flowers.

Ay, proudly did the banner wave,

As queen of earth and air;

But faint hearts throbb'd beneath its folds,

In anguish and despair.

Deep, deep in Paynim dungeon

Their kingly chieftain lay,

And low on many an Eastern field

Their knighthood's best array.

'Twas mournful, when at feasts they met,
The wine-cup round to send,

For each that touch'd it silently,
Then miss'd a gallant friend!

And mournful was their vigil
On the beleaguer'd wall,

1 Queen of St. Louis. Whilst besieged by the Turks in Damietta, during the captivity of the king her husband, she there gave birth to a son, whom she named Tristan, in commemoration of her misfortunes. Information being conveyed to her, that the knights intrusted with the defence of the city had resolved on capitulation, she had them summoned to her apartment, and, by her heroic words, so wrought upon their spirits, that they vowed to defend her and the Cross to the last extremity.