How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight! How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war! "Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sor. rowful night,

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?"

"Thou shalt live," she replied, "Heaven's mercy, relieving

Each anguishing wound,, shall forbid me to

mourn."

"Ah, no! the last pang of my bosom is heaving!
No light of the morn shall to Henry return!
Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true!
Ye babes of my love, that await me afar!"
His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,
When he sunk in her arms-the poor wounded
Hussar!

LINES

INSCRIBED ON THE MONUMENT LATELY FINISHED BY MR. CHANTRY,

Which has been erected by the Widow of Admiral
Sir G. Campbell, K. C. B. to the memory of her
Husband.

To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart,
Fulfill'd the hero's and the patriot's part,-
Whose charity, like that which Paul enjoin'd,
Was warm, beneficent, and unconfined,-
This stone is rear'd: to public duty true,
The seaman's friend, the father of his crew-

Mild in reproof, sagacious in command,
He spread fraternal zeal throughout his band,
And led each arm to act, each heart to feel
What British valour owes to Britain's weal.
These were his public virtues:-but to trace
His private life's fair purity and grace,

To paint the traits that drew affection strong
From friends, an ample and an ardent throng,
And, more, to speak his memory's grateful claim
On her who mourns him most, and bears his name;
O'ercomes the trembling hand of widow'd grief,
O'ercomes the heart, unconscious of relief,
Save in Religion's high and holy trust,
Whilst placing their memorial o'er his dust.

THE BRAVE ROLAND.*

THE brave Roland!-the brave Roland!-
False tidings reach'd the Rhenish strand
That he had fall'n in fight!

*The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfells, the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands.

And thy faithful bosom swoon'd with pain,
O loveliest maiden of Allemayne!

For the loss of thine own true knight.

But why so rash has she ta'en the veil,
In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale?

For her vow had scarce been sworn,
And the fatal mantle o'er her flung,
When the Drachenfells to a trumpet rung-
"I was her own dear warrior's horn!

Woe! woe! each heart shall bleed-shall break!
She would have hung upon his neck,
Had he come but yester-even:

And he had clasp'd those peerless charms
That shall never, never fill his arms,
Or meet him but in heaven.

Yet Roland the brave-Roland the true-
He could not bid that spot adieu;

It was dear still 'midst his woes;
For he loved to breathe the neighbouring air,
And to think she blest him in her prayer,
When the Halleluiah rose.

There's yet one window of that pile,
Which he built above the Nun's green isle;
Thence sad and oft look'd he

(When the chant and the organ sounded slow)
On the mansion of his love below,
For herself he might not see.

She died!-He sought the battle-plain!
Her image fill'd his dying brain,

When he fell and wish'd to fall:

And her name was in his latest sigh,
When Roland, the flower of chivalry,
Expired at Roncevall.

THE SPECTRE BOAT.

A BALLAD.

LIGHT rued false Ferdinand to leave a lovely maid forlorn,

Who broke her heart and died to hide her blushing cheek from scorn.

One night he dreamt he woo'd her in their wonted bower of love,

Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the birds sang sweet above.

But the scene was swiftly changed into a churchyard's dismal view,

And her lips grew black beneath his kiss, from love's delicious hue.

What more he dreamt he told to none; but, shuddering, pale, and dumb,

Look'd out upon the waves, like one that knew his hour was come.

'Twas now the dead-watch of the night-the helm was lash'd a-lee,

And the ship rode where Mount Etna lights the deep Levantine sea;

When beneath its glare a boat came, row'd by a woman in her shroud,

Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood up and spoke aloud:

"Come, Traitor, down, for whom my ghost still wanders unforgiven!

Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I broke my peace with Heaven!"

It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to meet her call,

Like the bird that shrieks and flutters in the gazing serpent's thrall.

You may guess the boldest mariner shrunk daunted from the sight,

For the Spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with hideous light;

Like a fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of her hand,

And round they went, and down they went, as the cock crew from the land.

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS,
ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

Ir any white-wing'd Power above
My joys and griefs survey,

The day when thou wert born, my love-
He surely bless'd that day.

I laugh'd (till taught by thee) when told
Of Beauty's magic powers,

That ripen'd life's dull ore to gold,
And changed its weeds to flowers.

My mind had lovely shapes portray'd;
But thought I earth had one