Tell how o'er prondest joys

May swift destruction sweep,
And bid him build his hopes on high-
Lone teacher of the deep.

Lydia H. SIGOURNEY.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. [THOMAS CAMPBELL, born in Glasgow, 27th July, 1777, is the

author of “Pleasures of Hope,” published in 1799, when he was only twenty-two years of age, “ Gertrude of Wyoming," published in 1809, and some of the most spirited lyrics in

the language. He died 15th June, 1844.] 1. Our bugles sang truce—for the night-cloud had

lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 2. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,

And thrice ere the morning I dream'd it again. 3. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,

Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track : 'Twas autumn—and sunshine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 4. I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was

young : I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers

sung. 5. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to

part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart ; 6. “Stay, stay with us—rest, thou art weary and worn

!” And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;But sorrow return’d with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear-melted away.

CAMPBELL. Fagot.—A bundle of sticks or brushwood, bound together

for fuel, and kept burning during the night to scare away the wolves from feeding on the unburied dead.

coarse,

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT. [ROBERT BURNS, the greatest of Scottish poets, was born 25th

January, 1759, and, after a brief and chequered existence,

died 21st July, 1796.] 1. Is there for honest poverty That hangs his head, and a' that?

all.
The coward-slave we pass him by ;
We dare be poor for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp-
The man 's the gowd for a' that.

gold. 2. What tho' on hamely fare we dine,

homely.
Wear hodden gray, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine- give.
A man 's a man for a’ that.
For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a' that. 3. You see yon birkie ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a'thatTho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that;

fool. For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that ;
The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that.

young fellow.

4. A king can mak a belted knight,

make. A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man 's aboon his might

above. Guid faith, he maunna fa' that ! must not try. For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities and a' that;
The pith o'sense, and pride o' worth

Are higher ranks than a' that. 5. Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that.

superiority. For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be, for a' that.

ROBERT BURNS.

THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN.

[FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS was born in Liverpool, 25th

September, 1794, and died 16th May, 1835. Her poetry is remarkable for purity and delicacy of feeling, and a fine

sense of the beauty of nature.]
1. The wine-month shone in its golden prime

And the red grapes clustering hung,
But a deeper sound through the Switzer's clime,
Than the vintage music rung

A sound, through vaulted cave,

A sound, through echoing glen,
Like the hollow swell of a rushing wave;-

'Twas the tread of steel-girt men. 2. And a trumpet, pealing wild and far,

'Midst the ancient rocks was blown, Till the Alps replied to that voice of war,

With a thousand of their own.

And through the forest glooms

Flashed helmets to the day,
And the winds were tossing knightly plumes

Like the larch-boughs in their play. 3. In Hasli's wilds there was gleaming steel,

As the host of the Austrian passed ; And the Schreckhorn's rocks, with a savage peal, Made mirth of his clarion's blast.

Up ʼmidst the Righi snows

The stormy march was heard,
With the charger's tramp,whence fire-sparks rose,

And the leader's gathering ward. 4. But a band, the noblest band of all,

Through the rude Morgarten strait, With blazoned streamers, and lances tall, Moved onwards, in princely state.

They came, with heavy chains,

For the race despised so long-
But amidst his Alp-domains

The herdsman's arm is strong!
5. The sun was reddening the clouds of morn

When they entered the rock-defile, And shrill as a joyous hunter's horn Their bugles rung the while.

But on the misty height,

Where the mountain-people stood,
There was stillness, as of night,

When storms at distance brood.
6. There was stillness, as of deep dead night,

And a pause—but not of fear, While the Switzers gazed on the gathering might Of the hostile shield and spear.

On wound those columns bright

Between the lake and wood,
But they looked not to the misty height

Where the mountain-people stood.

7. The pass was filled with their serried power,

All helmed and mail-arrayed,
And their steps had sounds like a thunder-shower
In the rustling forest shade.

There were prince and crested knight

Hemmed in by cliff and flood,
When a shout arose from the misty height

Where the mountain-people stood.
8. And the mighty rocks came bounding down

Their startled foes among,
With a joyous whirl from the summit thrown-
Oh! the herdsman's arm is strong !

They came, like lauwine hurled

From Alp to Alp in play:
When the echoes shout through the snowy world,

And the pines are borne away.
9. The fir-woods crashed on the mountain side,

And the Switzers rushed from high,
With a sudden charge, on the flower and pride
Of the Austrian chivalry;

Like hunters of the deer,

They stormed the narrow dell,
And first in the shock, with Uri's spear,

Was the arm of William Tell.
10. There was tumult in the crowded strait,

And a cry of wild dismay,
And many a warrior met his fate
From a peasant's hand that day !

And the empire's banner then,

From its place of waving free,
Went down before the shepherd-men,

The men of the Forest-sea.
11. With their pikes and massy clubs they brake

The cuirass and the shield,
And the war-horse dashed to the reddening lake

From the reapers of the field !