In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 7. THE SONG OF CONSTANCE.-Scott. Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever, From his true maiden's breast, Where through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Parted for ever; Never again to wake; Never, oh never! Where shall the traitor rest, He the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin and leave her! In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, His warm blood the wolf shall lap Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonor sit By his grave ever: Blessings shall hallow it, Never, oh never! 8. THE ORPHAN'S DREAM.-Anonymous. Bereft of his kindred, Mohanoe had strayed To a land among strangers, far, far from his isle; O'erwhelining misfortune in ruins had laid Each heart-cheering prospect that once could beguile. One son, an affectionate darling, remained, To soothe his afflictions, his perils to share; All cheerless and lone was the orphan-boy left, 'Twas night-and the orphan-boy sunk to repose; He thought of those days, when, a stranger to care, Through his dear native bowers he had carelessly roved; The music of home sweetly struck on his ear The voices of those he so dearly had loved. He smiled, as now near to the cottage he drew; A sweet song of welcome they cheerfully sung, His sisters around him endearingly clung, And kissed him with transport again and again. "I am blest!" cried the dreamer;-"yea blest is the hour! These lovely caresses once more do I meet; Kind heaven! I thank thy all-favoring power- But hark! how the thunder now bursts o'er the sky! 'Oh God!" he exclaimed," is all this but a dream? I thought in my soul thou hadst blessed me a gain." Though roused from his slumber,-again he reclines; For death's icy fingers his eyelids have closed. He rests 'neath the shade of the cypress and yew: Where his bones unlamented-but peacefully lie. 9. HENRY FIRST, AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS SON.—Hemans. The bark that held the prince went down, The sweeping waves rolled on ;— He lived-for life may long be borne, Ere sorrow breaks its chain; Still comes not death to those who mourn ;— He never smiled again! There stood proud forms before his throne, The stately and the brave; But which could fill the place of one, Before him passed the young and fair, In pleasure's reckless train; But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair- He sat where festal bowls went round; He heard the minstrel sing; He saw the tourney's victor crowned A murmur of the restless deep A voice of winds that would not sleep:- Hearts in that time, closed o'er the trace And strangers took the kinsman's place Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, Fresh hopes were born for other years :- 0. HENRY FIFTH AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.-Southey To Henry's tent a hermit passed; The map before him lay; Fresh conquests he was planning there To grace the future day. King Henry lifted up his eyes, The intruder to behold; With reverence he the hermit saw, For the holy man was old. "Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs "I used to see along the stream The white sail sailing down; Famine, disease, and death, and thou "I used to hear the traveler's voice, Or maiden's, as she loitered home, No traveler's voice may now be heard,- But I have heard the village maid 'I used to see the youths row down, "I shall go on," king Henry cried, "Thou conqueror king, repent in time, For, Henry, thou hast heard the threat, 11. THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.-Anonymous. The sun had just retired; the dews of eve The lonely nightingale began to grieve, Telling, with many a pause, her tenderest tale |