Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to bitter

deeds;

He shrieks, he falls, the perjured lover bleeds! Now the last laugh of agony is o'er,

And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more!

"Tis done! the flame of hate no longer burns:
Nature relents, but, ah! too late returns!
Why does my soul this gush of fondness feel?
Trembling and faint, I drop the guilty steel!
Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies,
And shades of horror close my languid eyes!
"Oh! 't was a deed of Murder's deepest grain!
Could Bk's soul so true to wrath remain?
A friend long true, a once fond lover fell!-
Where Love was foster'd, could not Pity dwell?
"Unhappy youth, while yon pale crescent glows
To watch on silent Nature's deep repose.
Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb,
Foretells my fate, and summons me to come!
Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand,
Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand!
"Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame
Forsake its languid melancholy frame!

Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close,
Welcome the dreamless night of long repose!
Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne
Where, lull'd to slumber, Grief forgets tr
mourn!"

SONG.

Oн, how hard it is to find
The one just suited to our mind;

And if that one should be
False, unkind, or found too late,
What can we do but sigh at fate,

And sing Woe 's me-Woe 's me!

Love's a boundless burning waste,
Where Bliss's stream we seldom taste,
And still more seldom flee

Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings;
Yet somehow Love a something brings
That's sweet-ev'n when we sigh 'Woe 's me!'

STANZAS

ON THE THREATENED INVASION, 1803.

OUR bosoms we 'll bare for the glorious strife,
And our oath is recorded on high,

To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life,
Or crush'd in its ruins to die!

Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand,

And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust

God bless the green Isle of the brave!

Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust,

It would rouse the old dead from their grave! Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand,

And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abideProfaning its loves and its charms?

Shall a Frenchman insult the loved fair at our side?

To arms! oh, my country, to arms!

Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand,

And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

Shall a tyrant enslave us, my countrymen!-No!
His head to the sword shall be given-

A death-bed repentance be taught the proud foe,
And his blood be an offering to Heaven!
Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right
hand,

And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

SONG.

WITHDRAW not yet those lips and fingers,
Whose touch to mine is rapture's spell!
Life's joy for us a moment lingers,

And death seems in the word-farewell.
The hour that bids us part and go,
It sounds not yet-oh! no, no, no!
Time, whilst I gaze upon thy sweetness,
Flies like a courser high the goal;
To-inorrow where shall be his fleetness,
When thou art parted from my soul?
Our hearts shall beat, our tears shall flow,
But not together,-no, no, no!

HALLOWED GROUND.

WHAT'S hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod
Its maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,

Unscourged by Superstition's rod
To bow the knee?

That's hallow'd ground-where, mourn'd and miss'd,

The lips repose our love has kiss'd;-
But where's their memory's mansion? Is't
Yon church yard's bowers?

No! in ourselves their souls exist,
A part of ours.

A kiss can consecrate the ground
Where mated hearts are mutual bound:
The spot where love's first links were wound,
That ne'er are riven,

Is hallow'd down to earth's profound,
And up to heaven!

For time makes all but true love old;
The burning thoughts that then were told
Run molten still in memory's mould;

And will not cool,

Until the heart itself be cold
In Lethe's pool.

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
"Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep

Their turf may bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep

Their coral tomb.

But strew his ashes to the wind

Whose sword or voice has served mankindAnd is he dead, whose glorious mind

Lifts thine on high?

To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.

Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?
A noble cause!

Give that! and welcome War to brace
Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space!
The colors planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear.

And place our trophies where men kneel To Heaven!-but Heaven rebukes my zeal! The cause of Truth and human weal,

O God above!

Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To Peace and Love.

Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine-
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,