MISCELLANEOUS.

THE ARAB TO HIS STEED.

My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by,

With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye,

Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged

speed:

I may not mount on thee again-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind,

The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind: The stranger hath thy bridle-rein-thy master hath his gold

Fleet-limb'd and beautiful, farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold!

Farewell! those free, untir'd limbs full many a mile must roam,

To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home:

Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare,

Thy silky mane I braided once, must be another's

care!

The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee

Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be:

Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy plain

Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again.

Yes, thou must go! the wild, free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky,

Thy master's home-from all of these, my exil'd one must fly :

Thy proud, dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet;

And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet.

Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing

bright;

Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and

light;

And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed,

Then must I, starting, wake to feel,-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

Ah! rudely, then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,

Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side;

And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy indignant pain,

Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each started vein.

Will they ill-use thee? If I thought-but no, it

cannot be

Thou art so swift, yet easy curb'd; so gentle, yet so free:

And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn,

Can the hand which cast thee from it now, command thee to return!

Return! alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy master do,

When thou, who wert his all of joy, hast vanish'd from his view?

When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears, Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirage appears?

Slow and unmounted will I roam, with weary step

alone,

Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on;

And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think,

It was here he bow'd his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!

When last I saw him drink!-Away! the fever'd dream is o'er;

I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more!

They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong

They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long.

Who said that I had given thee up? who said that thou wert sold? [back their gold? 'Tis false-'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them Thus, thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains;

Away! who overtakes us now, shall claim thee for MRS. NORTON.

his pains!

TO A WILD DEER.

FIT couch of repose for a pilgrim like thee!
Magnificent prison enclosing the free!
With rock-wall encircled-with precipice crown'd,
Which, awoke by the sun, thou canst clear at a

bound.

[keep 'Mid the fern and the heather kind Nature doth One bright spot of green for her favourite's sleep; And, close to that covert, as clear as the skies [lies When their blue depths are cloudless, a little lake Where the creature at rest can his image behold, Looking up through the radiance, as bright and as

bold!

How lonesome! how wild! yet the wildness is rife
With the stir of enjoyment-the spirit of life.
The glad fish leaps up in the heart of the lake,
Whose depths, at the sudden plunge, sullenly quake!
Elate, on the fern-branch, the grasshopper sings,
And away in the midst of his roundelay springs;
'Mid the flowers of the heath, not more bright than
The wild bee is busy, a musical elf— [himself,
Then starts from his labour, unwearied and gay,
And, circling his antlers, booms far, far away.
While, high up the mountains, in silence remote,
The cuckoo, unseen, is repeating his note;

The mellowing echo, on watch in the skies,
Like a voice from the loftier climate replies.
With wide-spreading antlers, a guard to his breast,
There lies the wild creature, e'en stately in rest!
'Mid the grandeur of nature composed and serene,
And proud in his heart of the mountainous scene,
He lifts his calm eye to the eagle and raven,
At noon sinking down, on smooth wings, to their
As if in his soul the bold animal smiled [haven,
To his friends of the sky, the joint-heirs of the wild.

Yes! fierce looks thy nature, e'en hush'd in repose-
In the depths of thy desert regardless of foes.
Thy bold antlers call on the hunter afar,
With a haughty defiance, to come to the war!
No outrage is war to a creature like thee!
The bugle-horn fills thy wild spirit with glee,
As thou bearest thy neck on the wings of the wind,
And the laggardly gaze-hound is toiling behind.
In the beams of thy forehead that glitter with death,
In feet that draw power from the touch of the heath,--
In the wide-raging torrent that lends thee its roar,-
In the cliff that, once trod, must be trodden no

more,―

Thy trust,-'mid the dangers that threaten thy reign!
-But what, if the stag on the mountain be slain?
On the brink of the rock-lo! he standeth at bay
Like a victor that falls at the close of the day-
While hunter and hound in their terror retreat
From the death that is spurn'd from his furious feet:
And his last cry of anger comes back from the skies,
As nature's fierce son in the wilderness dies.
PROF. WILSON.