Spread its dark shape, and left the sun behind.
-The daylight sank, and the winds wailed about
The bark wherein the luckless couple lay,
And from the distant cloud came scattering out
Rivers of fire: it seemed as though the day
Had burst from out the billows far away.
No pilot had they their small boat to steer
Aside from rocks; no sea-worn mariner
Who knew each creek and bay and sheltering steep,
And all the many dangers of the deep.
They fled for life,-(for happiness is life)
And met the tempest in his hour of strife
Abroad upon the waters they were driven
Against him by the angry winds of heaven;
And all around, the clouds, the air, the sea,
Rose from unnatural dead tranquillity,
And came to battle with their legions: Hail
Shot shattering down, and thunder roared aloud,
And the wild lightning from his dripping shroud
Unbound his arrowy pinions blue and pale,
And darted through the heavens: Behold the gale
Sang like a dirge; and the white billows lash'd
The boat, and then like ravenous lions dash'd
Against the deep wave-hidden rocks, and told
Of ghastly perils as they backward roll'd.

The lovers driven along from hour to hour,
Were helpless, hopeless, in the ocean's pow'r.
-The storm continued, and no voice was heard,
Save that of some poor solitary bird,

Which sought a shelter on the quivering mast,
But soon borne off by the tremendous blast,
Sank in the waters screaming. The great sea
Bared like a grave its bosom silently;
Then sank and parted like an angry thing
With its own strength at war. The vessel flew
Toward the land, and then the billows grew
Larger and white, and roared as triumphing,
Scattering afar and wide the heavy spray
That shone like loose snow as it passed away.
At first, the dolphin and the porpoise dark
Came rolling by them, and the hungry shark
Followed the boat, patient and eager-eyed,
And the grey curlew slanting dipped her side,
And the hoarse gull his wings within the foam;
But some had sunk-the rest had hurried home.
And now pale Julia and her husband (clasped
Each in the other's arms) sat viewing death;
She, for his sake in fear, silently gasped,
And he to cheer her kept his steady breath,
Talking of hope, and smiled like morning.-There
They sate together in their sweet despair:

Sometimes upon his breast she laid her head,
And he upon her silent beauty fed,

Hushing her fears, and 'tween her and the storm
Drew his embroider'd cloak to keep her warm ;
She thanked him with a look upturned to his,
The which he answered by a tender kiss,
Pressed and prolonged to pain! her lip was cold,
And all her love and terror mutely told,
-The vessel struck-

ROLAND GRÆME.

Cunningham.

THE trumpet was rung on Hellvellyn side,
The bugle in Derwent vale:

And an hundred steeds came hurrying fleet,
With an hundred men in mail:

And the gathering cry, and the warning word,
Was-" Fill the quiver, and sharpen the sword."

And away they bound-the mountain deer
Starts at their helmet's flash:·

And away they go-the brooks call out,

With a hoarse and a murmuring dash h;
The foam, flung from their steeds as they go,
Strews all their track like the drifting snow.

What foes chase they? for I see no foe;
And yet all spurred and gor'd,
Their good steeds fly-say, seek they work
For the fleet hound or the sword?

I see no foe-yet a foe they pursue,

With bow and brand, and horn and halloo.

Sir Richard spurs on his bonny brown steed,
Sir Thomas spurs on his black ;

There is an hundred steeds, and each

Has a Selby on its back;

And the meanest man there draws a brand

Has silver spurs and a baron's land.

The Eden is deep in flood-lo! look

How it dashes from bank to bank,
To them it seems but the bonny green lea,
Or the vale with brackens rank.-

They brave the water and breast the banks,
And shake the flood and foam from their flanks.

The winding and haunted Eske is nigh,

With its woodlands wide and green;

"Our steeds are white with foam; shall we wash
"Their flanks in the river Sheen?"

But their steeds may be doom'd to a sterner task,
Before they pass the woodland Eske.

All at once they stoop on their horses' necks,
And utter a long shrill shout;

And bury their spur in their coursers' flank,

And pluck their bright blades out:

The spurned-up turf is scatter'd behind,

For they go as the hawk when he sails with the wind.

Before them, not far, on the lilied lea,

There is a fair youth flying;

And at his side rides a lovely maid,

Oft looking back and sighing :

On his bonnet dances the heron's plume,

And fans the maid's cheek, all of ripe rose bloom.

"Now do thy best, my bonny grey steed,

And carry my true lover over;

And thy corn shall be served in a silver dish,
And heap'd and running over-

O bear her safe, through dark Eske's fords,

And leave me to cope with her kinsmen's swords.'

Proud looked the steed, and had braved the flood
Had it foam'd a full mile wider ;

Turn'd his head in joy, and his eye seem'd to say,

"I'm proud of my lovely rider:

And though Selbys stood thick as the leaves on the trec, All scatheless, I'd bear thee o'er mountain and lea."

A rushing was heard on the river banks,

Wild rung wood, rock, and linn—

And that instant, an hundred horsemen at speed,

Came foaming and fearless in.

"Turn back, turn back, thou Scottish loon,

Let us measure our swords, 'neath the light of the moon."

And an hundred horsemen leaped lightly down,

With their silver spurs all ringing;

And drew back as Sir Richard his good blade bar'd,
While the signal trump kept singing:

And Roland Græme down his mantle threw,

With a martial smile, and his bright sword drew.

With a measuring eye, and a measur❜d pace,
Nigher they came and nigher;

Then made a bound and made a blow,
And the smote helms yielded fire:
December's hail, or the thunder's blast,
Ne'er flash'd so bright, or fell so fast.

"Now yield thee, Roland, and give me back
Lord Selby's beauteous daughter;
Else I shall sever thy head, and heave't
To thy light love o'er the water."

"My sword is steel, Sir Richard, like thine,
And thy head's as loose on thy neck as mine."

And again their dark eyes flashed, and again
They clos'd-on sweet Eske side,

The ring-doves sprung from their roosts, for the blows
Were echoing far and wide:

Sir Richard was stark, and young Roland was strong;
And the combat was fierce, but it lasted not long.

There's blood upon young Roland's blade,
There's blood on Sir Richard's brand;
There's blood shower'd o'er their weeds of steel,
And rain'd on the grassy land:

But blood to the warrior's like dew to the flower;
The combat but wax'd still more deadly and dour.

A dash was heard in the moonlight Eske,

And up its banks of green,

Fair Edith Selby came with a shriek

And knelt the knights between :

"Oh! spare him, Sir Richard!" she held her white hands,
All spotted with blood 'neath the merciless brands.

Young Roland look'd down on his true love, and smil'd.
Sir Richard look'd also and said,-

"Curse on them that true love would sunder," he sheath'd
With his broad palm his berry-brown blade;

"And long may the Selbys, abroad and at hame,
Find a friend and a foe like the good gallant Græme."

AN APOSTROPHE TO PEACE.

--

PEACE! lasting Peace! There is something in the very sound that makes our hearts throb with expectation and delight! Think of the numerous benefits which will accrue to the world at large by the cessation of War ;they crowd too thick and fast upon the mind to utter them; whilst the vast amount of human misery that would be averted stands paramount. Oh! what victims has the blood-red hand of War sacrificed on its altar! How has it blighted the fairest prospects and torn asunder heaven-born ties! How many hearts has it caused to bleed with grief, and to be stricken with despair! Wherever it has shown its devastating hand it has opened one huge grave that has engulphed the fairest and the best! Gaze on the field of death at the close of an engagement! Listen to the sounds borne along upon the midnight breeze, like the groans of some monster

spirit struggling in its agony! Go yet nearer-see the pale wounded, and the paler dead!—Think, at that moment, of the widowed grief-rent hearts at home, and say, does not the thought of these scenes being numbered with the past-of these sighings of broken spirits being exchanged for songs of love and innocence- -seem too much for our feeble frames to bear? Think of the wild cry of joy which ran along our coasts at the last general announcement of peace; what a cry was that! how strangely in it agony and joy were mingled! A people who had been brought up from infancy in scenes of war and bloodshed!-Wives who had lived in the daily expectation of all they cherished as dear being ruthlessly torn from them! Mothers whose parental existence had been one intense anxiety lest the hand of the destroyer should visit them next, and arrest those on whom all their hopes rested, at once their pride and joy. When it was announced that these scenes were to cease, it seemed almost too much for a nation to endure: bitter recollections of the past mingled strangely with anticipations for the future.

Oh! when shall a far longer peace than this-a peace uninterrupted and eternal-dawn upon our world? When shall love, the brightest emanation of the Deity, make every spirit to warm, and every face to glow with joy?

All nature seems to rebuke our strifes-in all the wide creation every thing seems harmony but man. What exquisite repose! what sublime unity! Gaze upon the setting sun, in all its variety of tints, ever changing in its hue, yet all converging in one golden ray; and imagine, must it not be some burnished pathway to the land of everlasting harmonies. Let man then no longer be the exception;-no longer let us point to plains immortalized by scenes of carnage as the glory of our land; but let each one aid on the time-aid it in the world without and by the home fireside-when every hill, valley, and plain bounded by England's shores, shall send forth the incense of pure and loving hearts to the Fatherland on high; when Peace shall reign triumphant throughout the length and breadth of our land, and War shall be known no more !

THOMAS E. FULLER.

GERTRUDE VON DER WART

Mrs. Hemans.

HER hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes raised,
The breeze threw back her hair;

Up to the fearful wheel she gazed

All that she loved was there.*

The night was round her clear and cold,

The holy heaven above;

Its pale stars watching to behold

The might of earthly love.

* She is supposed to be witnessing her husband perish by the rack.