That black balcony is the steeple;
How gaily spins the weathercock!
How proudly shines the crazy clock!
A clock, whose wheels eccentric run,
More like my head than like the sun;
And yet it shows us, right or wrong,
The days are only twelve hours long;
Though captives often reckon here
Each day a month, each month a year
There honest William stands in state,
The porter, at the horrid gate;
Yet no ill-natured soul is he,
Entrance to all the world is free;
One thing indeed is rather hard,—
Egress is frequently debarr'd;
Of all the joys within that reign,
There's none like—getting out again!
Across the green, behold the court,
Where jargon reigns and wigs resort;
Where bloody tongues fight bloodless battles,
For life and death, for straws and rattles;
Where juries yawn their patience out,
And judges dream in spite of gout.
There, on the outside of the door,
(As sang a wicked wag of yore,)
Stands Mother Justice, tall and thin,
Who never yet hath ventured in.
The cause, my friend, may soon be shown,
The lady was a stepping stone,
Till—though the metamorphose odd is—
A chisel made the block a goddess:—
"Odd !" did I say ?—I'm wrong this time
But I was hamper'd for a rhyme:
Justice at—I could tell you where—
Is just the same as justice there.

But, lo ! my frisking dog attends,
The kindest of four-footed friends';
Brimful of giddinsss and mirth.

He is the prettiest fool on earth.
The rogue is twice a squirrel's size,
With short snub nose and big black eyes;
A cloud of brown adorns his tail,
That curls and serves him for a sail;
The same deep auburn dyes his ears,
That never were abridged by shears;
While white around, as Lapland snows,
His hair, in soft profusion, flows;
Waves on his breast and plumes his feet,
With glossy fringe, like feathers fleet.
A thousand antic tricks he plays,
And looks, at once, a thousand ways;
His wit, if he has any, lies
Somewhere between his tail and eyes;
Sooner the light those eyes will fail,
Than Billy cease to wag that tail!

And yet the fellow ne'er is safe
From the tremendous beak of Ralph;
A raven grim, in black and blue,
As arch a knave as e'er you knew;
Who hops about with broken pinions,
And thinks these walls his own dominions!
This wag a mortal foe to Bill is,
They fight like Hector and Achilles;
Bold Billy runs with all his might,
And conquers, Parthian-like, in flight;
While Ralph his own importance feels,
And wages endless war with heels:
Horses and dogs, and geese and deer,
He slily pinches in the rear;
They start, surprised, with sudden pain.
While honest Ralph sheers off again.

A melancholy stag appears,
With rueful look and flagging ears;
A feeble, lean, consumptive elf,
The very picture of myself!
My ghost-like form and new-moon phiz

MCMTOOMERY S PtEMS.

Are just the counterparts of his:
Blasted like nie by fortune's frown;
Like me twice huuted, twice run down!
Like me pursued, almost to death,
He's come to gaol to save his breath!
Still, on his painful limbs, are seen
The scars where worrying dogs have been;
Still, on his woe-imprinted face, t
I weep a broken heart to trace.
Daily the mournful wretch I feed,
With crumbs of comfort and of bread;
But man, false man ! so well he knows,
He deems the species all his foes.
In vain I smile to soothe his fear,
He will not, dare not, come too near;
He lingers—looks—and fain he would—
Then strains his neck to reach the food.
Oft as Iiis plaintive looks I see,
A brother's bowels yearn in me.
What rocks and tempests yet await
Both him and me, we leave to fate:
We know, by past experience taught,
That innocence availeth nought:
I feel, and 'tis my proudest boast,
That conscience is itself an host;
While this inspires my swelling breast,
Let all forsake me—I'm at rest;
Ten thousand deaths, in every nerve,
I 'd rather suffer, than deserve.

But yonder comes the victim's wife,
A dappled doe, all fire and life:
She trips along with gallant pace,
Her limbs alert, her motion grace;
Soft as the moonlight fairies bound,
Her footsteps scarcely kiss the ground;
Gently she lifts her fair brown head,
And licks my hand, and begs for bread:
I pat her forehead, stroke her neck,

She starts and gives a timid squeak;

Then, while her eye with brilliance bums,

The fawning animal returns;

Pricks her bob-tail, and waves her ears,

And happier than a queen appears!

—Poor beast! from fell ambition free,

And all the woes of Liberty;

Born in a gaol, a prisoner bred,

No dreams of hunting rack thine head;

Ah! mayst thou never pass these bounds,

To see the world—and feel the hounds !—

Still all her beauty, all her art,

Have fail'd to win her husband's heart;

Iier lambent eyes and lovely chest,

Her swan-white neck and ermine breast,

Her taper legs and spotty hide,

So softly, delicately pied,

In vain their fond allurements spread.

To love and joy her spouse is dead.

But, lo! the evening shadows fall

Broader and browner from the wall;

A warning voice, like curfew; bell,

Commands each captive to his cell;

My faithful dog and I retire,

To play and chatter by the fire:

Soon comes a turnkey with " Good night, sir!"

And bolts the door with all his might, sir.

Then leisurely to bed I creep,

And sometimes wake—and sometimes sleep.

These are the joys that reign in prison,

And if I'm happy 'tis with reason:

Yet still this prospect o'er the rest

Makes every blessing doubly blest;

That soon these pleasures will be vanish'd,

And I, from all these comforts, banish'd!

MONTGOMERY S POEMS.

THE BRAMIN.

EXTRACT FROM CANTO I.

Once on the mountain's balmy lap reclined,
The Sage unlock'd the treasures of his mind;
Pure from his lips sublime instruction came,
As the blest altar breathes celestial flame;
A band of youths and virgins round him press'd,
Whom thus the prophet and the sage address'd :-

"Through the wide universe's boundless range,
All that exist, decay, revive and change:
No atom torpid or inactive lies;
A being, once created, never dies.
The waning moon, when quench'd in shades of night
Renews her youth with all the charms of light;
The flowery beauties of the blooming year
Shrink from the shivering blast, and disappear;
Yet, warm'd with quickening showers of genial rain,
Spring from their graves, and purple all the plain.
As day the night, and night succeeds the day,
So death reanimates, so lives decay:
Like billows on the undulating main,
The swelling fall, the falling swell again;
Thus on the tide of time, inconstant, roll
The dying body and the living soul.
In every animal inspired with breath,
The flowers of life produce the seeds of death ;—
The seeds of death, though scatter'd in the tomb,
Spring with new vigour, vegetate and bloom.

"When wasted down to dust the creature dies, Quick, from its cell, the enfranchised spirit flies; Fills, with fresh energy, another form, And towers an elephant, or glides a worm: The awful lion's royal shape assumes; The fox's subtlety, or peacock's plumes; Swims, like an eagle, in the eye of noon,