Oh no, never dream it—while good men despair

Between tyrants and traitors, and timid men bow, Never think, for an instant, thy country can spare Such a light from her darkening horizon as thou.

With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of those
Who in life's sunny valley lie shelter'd and warm ;
Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose

To the top cliffs of Fortune, and breasted her

storm;

With an ardour for liberty, fresh as, in youth,

It first kindles the bard and gives life to his

lyre;

Yet mellow'd, ev'n now, by that mildness of truth, Which tempers, but chills not, the patriot fire;

With an eloquence-not like those rills from a height,

Which sparkle, and foam, and in vapour are o'er; But a current, that works out its way into light

Through the filtering recesses of thought and of lore.

Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade;
If the stirrings of Genius, the music of fame,
And the charms of thy cause have not power to
persuade,

Yet think how to Freedom thou'rt pledg'd by thy

Name.

Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delphi's decree,
Set apart for the Fane and its service divine,
So the branches, that spring from the old Russell
tree,

Are by Liberty claim'd for the use of her Shrine.

MY BIRTH-DAY.

"My birth-day”—what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
And how, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears!

When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And, as Youth counts the shining links,
That Time around him binds so fast,
Pleased with the task, he little thinks

How hard that chain will press at last.
Vain was the man, and false as vain,

Who said* 66 were he ordain'd to run

"His long career of life again,

"He would do all that he had done."

Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells

In sober birth-days, speaks to me;

* FONTENELLE.

tout ce que j'ai fait."

"Si je recommençais ma carrière, je ferai

Far otherwise-of time it tells,
Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly;
Of counsel mock'd; of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines;
Of nursing many a wrong desire;
Of wandering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire,

That cross'd my pathway, for his star.-
All this it tells, and, could I trace

The' imperfect picture o'er again,

With pow'r to add, retouch, efface

The lights and shades, the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay!

How quickly all should melt away

All-but that Freedom of the Mind,

Which hath been more than wealth to me;

Those friendships, in my boyhood twin'd,

And kept till now unchangingly;

And that dear home, that saving ark,

Where Love's true light at last I've found,

Cheering within, when all grows dark,

And comfortless, and stormy round!

FANCY.

THE more I've view'd this world, the more I've found,

That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, Fancy commands, within her own bright round,

A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. Nor is it that her power can call up there

A single charm, that's not from Nature won, -
No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear
A single tint unborrow'd from the sun;
But 'tis the mental medium it shines through,
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light, that o'er the level lake
One dull monotony of lustre flings,

Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make
Colours as gay as those on angels' wings!