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In dreams his song of triumph heard; Then wore his monarch's signet ring: Then pressed that monarch's throne, a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden-bird.

2. At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.

There, had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood,
On old Platea's day;

And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires, who conquered there,
With arms to strike, and souls to dare,
As quick, as far as they.

3. An hour passed on-the Turk awoke: That bright dream was his last;

He woke to hear his sentries shriek,

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To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!” He woke to die 'midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and saber stroke.

And death-shots, falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice, as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris, cheer his band:

"Strike! till the last armed foe expires;
Strike! for your altars and your fires;
Strike! for the green graves of your sires;
God, and your native land!"

4. They fought, like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain, They conquered-but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile, when rang the proud hurrah!

And the red field was won;

Then saw, in death, his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

5 Come to the bridal chamber, Death!
Come to the mother, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;
Come when the blessed seals

That close the pestilence, are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake's shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high, and warm,

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,
And thou art terrible! the tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier;
And all we know, or dream, or fear,
Of agony, are thine.

6. But, to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave,

Greece nurtured, in her glory's time,
Rest thee-there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.

We tell thy doom without a sigh;

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's-
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.

HALLECK.

XXXVII.-ANECDOTES.

1.-BENEVOLENCE.

1. AT a missionary meeting among the negroes in the West Indies, it is related, these three resolutions were adopted. (1.) We will all give something.

(2.) We will all give according to our abilities.

(3.) We will all give willingly.

2. At the close of the meeting, a leading negro took his seat at a table, with pen and ink, to put down what each came to contribute. Many advanced to the table, and sanded in their contributions, some more and some less.

Among the contributors was an old negro, who was very rich, almost as rich as all the rest united. He threw down a small silver coin. "Take dat back again," said the chairman of the meeting. "Dat may be 'cording to de fust resolution, but not 'cording to de second."

3. The rich old man accordingly took it up, and hobbled back to his seat much enraged. One after another came forward, and all giving more than himself, he was ashamed, and again threw a picce of money on the table, saying, "Dar, take dat!" It was a valuable piece of gold, but given so ill-temperedly, that the chairman answered, "No, sir, dat won't do! Dat may be 'cording to de fust and second resolutions, but not 'cording to de third." He was obliged to take it up again. Still angry with himself and all the rest, he sat a long time, until nearly all were gone, and then advanced to the table, with a smile on his countenance, and laid a large sum of money on the table. "Dar, now, berry well," said the presiding negro; "dat will do; dat am 'cording to all de resolutions."

2. A CONSIDERATE DOCTOR.

1. A POOR girl, who had just recovered from a fit of sickness, gathered up her scanty earnings, and went to the doctor's office to settle her bill. Just at the door, the lawyer of the place passed into the office before her, on a similar errand.

"Well, doctor," said he, "I believe I am indebted to you, and I should like to know how much."

"Yes," said the doctor, "I attended upon you about a week, and what should you charge me for a week's service? or what do you realize, on an average, for a week's

service?"

2. "O," said the lawyer, "perhaps seventy-five dollars." "Very well, then, as my time and profession are as valu able as yours, your bill is seventy five dollars."

The poor girl's heart sunk within her, for should her pill be any thing like that, how could she ever pay? The lawyer paid his bill and passed out, when the doctor turned to the young woman, and kindly inquired her errand.

3. "I come," said she, "to know what I owe you, although I do not know that I can ever pay you."

"I attended you about a week," said he.

"Yes, sir!"

"What do you carn a week?"

"Seventy-five cents."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, sir."

Then your bill is seventy-five cents."

The poor girl paid him thankfully, and went back with a light heart.

3.-KILL OR CURE.

A DOCTOR was employed by a poor man to attend his wife, who was dangerously ill. The doctor gave a hint that he had fears of not being paid.

"I have five pounds," said the man to the doctor," and if you kill or cure, you shall have them." The woman died in the doctor's hands, and after a reasonable time he called for his five pounds. The man asked the doctor if he killed his wife?

"No!"

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Then," said the poor man, "you have no legal demand !"

XXXVIII.-DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM.

1. THE king stood still

Till the last echo died; then, throwing off
The sack-cloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe:

2. "Alas! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!

3. Cold is thy brow, my son, and I am chill,
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee.
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,
And hear thy sweet 'my father,' from these dumb,
And cold lips, Absalom!

4. The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!

5. But, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear, to drink its last, deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!

6. And now farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death, so like a gentle slumber, on thee;
And thy dark sin! oh! I could drink the cup,

If, from this woe, its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My erring Absalom!"

7. He covered up his face, and bowed himself,
A moment, on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
IIis hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall,
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

WILLIS

XXXIX.-CHARACTER OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY.

1. THE Irish people have been as little known to, as they have been grossly defamed by the rest of Europe. The Irish peasantry, who necessarily compose the great body of the population, combine in their character many of those sin.

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