-Then, nymph nor goddess, of poetic birth,
E'er graced Jove's heaven, or stept on classic earth,
Like her in majesty ;-the stars came down
To wreathe her forehead with a fadeless crown;
The sky enrobed her with ethereal blue,
And girt with orient clouds of many a hue;
The sun, enamour'd of that loveliest sight,
So veil'd his face with her benigner light,
That woods and mountains, valleys, rocks, and streams,
Were only visible in her pure beams.

While Falkland, pale and trembling with surprise,
Admired the change, her stature seem'd to rise,
Till from the ground, on which no shadow spread,
To the arch'd firmament she rear'd her head;
And in th' horizon's infinite expanse,

He saw the British islands at a glance,
With intervening and encircling seas,

O'er which, from every port, with every breeze,
Exulting ships were sailing to all realms,

Whence vessels came, with strangers at their helms,

On Albion's shores all climes rejoiced to meet,

And pour their native treasures at her feet.

Then Falkland, in that glorious dame, descried

Not a dead parent, nor a phantom bride,
But her who ruled his soul, in either part,
At once the spouse and mother of his heart,
-His country, thus personified, in grace
And grandeur unconceived, before his face.
Then spake a voice, as from the primal sphere,
Heard by his spirit rather than his ear:—

"Henceforth let civil war for ever cease;
Henceforth, my sons and daughters, dwell in peace;
Amidst the ocean-waves that never rest,
My lovely Isle, be thou the halcyon's nest ;
Amidst the nations, evermore in arms,
Be thou a haven, safe from all alarms;
Alone immovable 'midst ruins stand,
Th' unfailing hope of every failing land:

To thee for refuge kings enthroned repair;
Slaves flock to breathe the freedom of thine air.
Hither, from chains and yokes, let exiles bend
Their footsteps; here the friendless find a friend;
The country of mankind shall Britain be,
The home of peace, the whole world's sanctuary."
The pageant fled; 'twas but a dream: he, woke,
And found himself beneath the Druid-oak,
Where first the phantom on his vigil broke.
Around him gleam'd the morn's reviving light;
But distant trumpets summon'd to the fight,
And Falkland slept among the slain at night.

1831.

THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD.

On the achievement of Arnold de Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, in which the Swiss insurgents secured the freedom of their country, against the power of Austria, in the fourteenth century.

"MAKE way for liberty!" he cried,
Made way for liberty, and died.

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood;
A wall,-where every conscious stone
Seem'd to its kindred thousands grown,
A rampart all assaults to bear,

Till time to dust their frames should wear:

A wood,-like that enchanted grove*
In which with fiends Rinaldo strove,
Where every silent tree possess'd
A spirit imprison'd in its breast,
Which the first stroke of coming strife
Might startle into hideous life:
So still, so dense, the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood.

* Gerusalemme Liberata, conto xviii.

Impregnable their front appears,
All-horrent with projected spears,
Whose polish'd points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendours run
Along the billows to the sun.

Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their father-land;

Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks th' ignoble yoke,

And beat their fetters into swords,
On equal terms to fight their lords,
And what insurgent rage had gain'd,
In many a mortal fray maintain'd.
Marshall'd once more, at freedom's call
They came to conquer or to fall,
Where he who conquer'd, he who fell,
Was deem'd a dead or living Tell;
Such virtue had that patriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed,
That wheresoe'er his arrows flew,
Heroes in his own likeness grew,
And warriors sprang from every sod
Which his awakening footstep trod.

And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burn'd within,
The battle trembled to begin;

Yet while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er th' impatient Switzers gazed,
Th' unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet:

How could they rest within their graves,
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread,
With clanking chains, above their head?

It must not be; this day, this hour
Annihilates th' invader's power;
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield,
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
Yet every freeman was a host,
And felt as 'twere a secret known,
That one should turn the scale alone,
While each unto himself was he,
On whose sole arm hung victory.
It did depend on one indeed;
Behold him,-Arnold Winkelried;
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.

Unmark'd he stood amidst the throng,
In rumination deep and long,

Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form

Anticipate the bursting storm,
And by th' uplifting of his brow

Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.
But 'twas no sooner thought than done,

The field was in a moment won;

"Make way for liberty !" he cried,

Then ran, with arms extended wide,

As if his dearest friend to clasp;

Ten spears he swept within his grasp;

"Make way for liberty!" he cried,

Their keen points cross'd from side to side; He bow'd amidst them, like a tree,

And thus made way for liberty.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly, "Make way for liberty!" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart,

While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic seized them all;
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free;
Thus death made way for liberty.
Redcar, 1827.

THE VOYAGE OF THE BLIND.

"It was that fatal and perfidious bark,

Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.”

MILTON'S Lycidas.

THE subject of the following poem was suggested by certain well-authenticated facts, published at Paris, in a medical journal, some years ago; of which a few particulars may be given here.

"The ship Le Rodeur, Captain B., of two hundred tons burden, left Havre on the 24th of January, 1819, for the coast of Africa, and reached her destination on the 14th of March following, anchoring at Bonny, on the river Calabar. The crew, consisting of twenty-two men, enjoyed good health during the outward voyage, and during their stay at Bonny, where they continued till the 6th of April. They had observed no trace of ophthalmia among the natives; and it was not until fifteen days after they had set sail on the return voyage, and the vessel was near the equator, that they perceived the first symptoms of this frightful malady. It was then remarked, that the negroes, who, to the number of one hundred and sixty, were crowded together in the hold, and between the decks, had contracted a considerable redness of the eyes, which spread with singular rapidity. No great attention was at first paid to these symptoms, which were thought to be caused only by the want of air in the hold, and by the scarcity of water, which had already begun to be felt. At this time they were limited to eight ounces of water a day for each person, which quantity was afterwards reduced to the half of a wine-glass. By the advice of M. Maugnan, the surgeon of the ship, the negroes, who had hitherto remained shut up in the hold, were brought upon deck in succession, in order that they might breathe a purer air. But it became necessary to abandon this expedient, salutary as it was, because many of the negroes, affected with nostalgia, (a passionate longing to return to their native land,) threw themselves into the sea, locked in each other's arms. "The disease which had spread itself so rapidly and frightfully among the Africans, soon began to infect all on board. The danger also was greatly increased by a malignant dysentery which prevailed at the time. The first of the crew who caught it was a sailor who slept under the deck near the grated hatch which communicated with the hold. The next day a landsman was seized with ophthalmia; and in three days more, the captain and the whole ship's company, except one sailor, who remained at the helm, were blinded by the disorder.

“All means of cure which the surgeon employed, while he was able to act, proved ineffectual. The sufferings of the crew, which were otherwise intense,