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clenched teeth. He had been in a swoon of anguish, not of death ; and his soul soon found itself alive under the ruins of its shattered tabernacle. The refreshing breezes which played on the water brought him to himself, and enabled him to see and feel every pang his torturer had prepared for him. His first look was to his maimed limbs, where he saw his blood and marrow soaking through his vestments. Pain had infixed her viper tooth in the seat of sensibility, and insinuated therein her subtle venom. He sought to approach the edge of the rock, but could not stir himself; death had bound him for execution on the stage of torture, where he lay immoveable. A burning fever, kindled by anguish, raged in his blood, to which the heat of the meridian sun, reflected from the rocks and water, gave additional violence. In the green mirror that encompassed him, he saw the wall of rocks reflected that cut him off from the land ; he heard the waves dashing against their base, and the horrors of his situation opened upon him. As the objects disengaged themselves from darkness, when the orient morn shone effulgently on the eastern hills, the miserable and guilty Francesco saw his deeds rise up before him, and at first his too precipitate suicide appeared the most obnoxious of his offences. He lamented that he had left that dearlypurchased wealth unenjoyed, which had lured nymphs to his arms, before whose beauties the charms of Enemonde had veiled their diminished lustre in shame and envy, and who would have richly consoled him for the loss of his ungrateful fair one. Regret stimulated him to vain struggles for escape ; loud were his cries for assistance, but none heard them: no vessel, however small, approached the dangerous shoal in which he had involved himself. Flies, wasps, and hornets swarmed about his battered visage, from which he had no means of driving them, inserted their suckers into his torn flesh, and sated themselves with his blood and juices. The loose spray of the sea was cast over him by the breeze, and wherever the briny drops fell into his wounds, they gave a keener edge to his torments. He cried to heaven and to mąn for rescue ; justified and cursed his deed ; called Pietro and Enemonde his murderers ; besought the All-gracious to terminate his misery, to open an abyss beneath him, to draw down the rocks on his head. He strained his nerves by vain efforts, and, stung with agony, cut new wounds in his flesh by useless struggles. The torrid sun blistered and peeled the skin from his face and neck, and burning thirst seared his palate. He lay on the most excruciating engine on which hell ever martyred its victims, until evening; and morning returned again, with-.. out sleep, without any mitigation of his anguish, which redoubled with every fresh pang. His strength was annihilated, and did not suffice to the faintest motion or groan. A cormorant alighted on him and ate out both his eyes. • Towards the evening of the second day the rising winds howled a note of comfort to the wretched sufferer; the sea curled into higher waves, and the distant thunder growled in hoarse murmurs. The miserable object of such accumulated tortures implored heaven to bury him beneath the ocean, or to hurl its flaming bolts at his head. The tempest grew more obstreperous; the winds raised the waters mountains high, and heaved them far over the rock where he lay. One of the waves in its return bore his mangled body into the sea, and completed and terminated his punishment!

A DEATH WITHOUT A GRAVE.

The clouds were gathering red and dark,

And the big rain dropped heavily: The Poet leapt into his bark,

And straight put forth to sea.

They watched him from the foamy shore,

As the waves broke upon his prow: They never thought to see him more;

They shrank to see him now.

But he had nothing of their dread;

He valued not his mortal breath, Save that within his soul it bred

Such thoughts as know not death.

His joy was in all wond'rous forms,

Alike of beauty and of fear;
In love or ire, in calms or storms,

He still was in his sphere.

But most of all was his delight

In Nature's works of wonderment; And oft at the cold dead of night,

Thus o'er the floods he went.

He went to hear the wild winds howl,

In fierce expectance of their prey; Like a lean herd of wolves that prowl

About the traveller's way.

He went to listen to the fall

Of the huge breakers' white cascade, Now rising on the billowy wall,

Now underneath it laid:

To see the storm-flash fright the gloom,

And the thick shades a moment sever; He went to hear the sea-knell boom,

He went, and went for ever.

The tempest and its wrath were gone,

But he returned not with the calm : They looked for him from morning's dawn, Till evening's hour of balm.

And hope still lingered, when at last

One slow wave rolled upon the strand
A broken helm, a shivered mast;

And then his fate was scanned.

They knew him dead, yet they should ne'er

Have seen the death-gloom on his face.
Why did they seek,—to find him there,

In the worm's foul embrace?

They did not hide him in the earth,

Half of his form even now was clay;
And those who loved him from his birth,

Turned sickening thence away.

But on the beach a funeral fire,

Just when the tide was down, they lit;
Then laid the corpse on its rude pyre,

And the flames kindled it.

There were pale cheeks and throbbing eyes

Around, too full to shed a tear;
And there were those mute, heaving sighs

We rather see than hear.

His scattered ashes they inurned,

And each sad friend to his own door
In deepest thoughtfulness returned,

But spoke of him no more.

COMPARISON.

Those withered leaves along the cold ground spread,

Did once the sweetest of all flowers compose; And tho' full many a sun hath seen them shed,

They still are odorous as the living rose. So breathes the memory of departed worth,

When years have mourned it in the silent tomb; There is a fragrance in the holy earth,

Where virtue sleeps, that time cannot consume. The good man dies, but with his parting breath

Bequeaths the world a sweet that knows no death.

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1.
Spirit of elder Time! immortal Song !
The high and the inspired have told thy worth;
Thou shed'st around us, like the night's bright throng,
A ray of softness, gracefulness, and mirth :
Thou art, and hast been, from thine earliest birth,
A charm with Man's affections intertwined :
A beauty and a glory upon earth :-

A power and a creation of the mind,
Which is itself divine-mysterious—-undefined !

II.
With the young minstrel, in his visioned moods,
Thou art a' visible presence;'—thy decree
Throngs with majestic forms his solitudes,
His feelings—thoughts-receive their life from thee:
Spirit of Song ! the melancholy sea
Gives up its ancient secrets to thy hand;

Thou speak'st the language of eternity :
Histories of long-lost years at thy command
Sound on the thousand tongues and echoes of the land !

III.
Thou sing'st the sweetness of the morn's first hour,
When to the founts her loveliest tints are given;
Thou sing'st of love-in court, in hall, or bower;
Of those who with hard fate have nobly striven;
Thou sing'st of war-of helms and corslets riven,
Of the dread grandeur of the battle-field;
Where flees the foe, by horse and horseman driven,

Flash the sharp brands the victors madly wield,
Red in the blood of all—that strive or basely yield.

IV.
Spirit of Verse! in deepest reverence
I bow before thine ever glorious shrine ;
Thee I have loved with passion most intense;
And though I feel thy meeds can ne'er be mine,
Yet may I pour one low and gentle line,
A breath of song: I know it to be vain, .
This cherished wish, a living wreath to twine ;

'Tis not for me such honour to attain

Some few may list, perhaps, and not condemn my strain. Manchester.

C. Sn.

POPER Y.

A VISION.

As it becomes every man to take an interest in the important questions that are discussed in parliament, I have not seldom reflected on that of Catholic Emancipation ; than which no subject can be of greater importance, since it respects the preservation of the Protestant religion, and, consequently, the freedom of the British constitution. Having retired to bed, one night, with my mind much disturbed by the arguments of those who support the measure, and endeavour to make it a legislative enactment, methought I was carried, in my sleep, to the top of a mountain, by a Genius, who commanded me to survey the circumjacent country. The horror I felt, at first, at the presence of a supernatural Being, gradually gave way to curiosity, and I soon recovered sufficient recollection to be inspired with a pleasing astonishment at the magnificent prospect that lay open to my view. The mountain, upon which I stood, was in the midst of an irregular chain, covered with perpetual snow. I cast a wistful eye to the regions beneath me, which, tesselated with woods, rivers, and meadows, resembled what my fancy had pictured to me of the luxuriancy of the golden ages.“ Surely,” thought I, “ happiness must dwell here --here is no sorrow, for there is no vice-such a place must be the abode of virtue.” After a time, I perceived, though at an immense distance, a cluster of seven hills, situated in a verdant plain, and washed by the waves of a delightful river. The hills were studded with temples and palaces, which betokened an imperial city; and the multitudes who swarmed from it, seemed, by their ambitious carriage, to give laws to the world.

“ What,” said I, turning to the Genius, “ is that fertile region; and what is the name of that noble city, which stands so proudly in the midst of it? Each is worthy of the other, as the one is arrayed in all the charms of nature, and the other decorated with all the embellishments of art.”

“ The region before you," replied the Genius, “ is called Italy, and the city, Rome-look at them again, and tell me if their appearance is now, as it was before."

In an instant the scene had been changed. Like a balloon, which is beheld, for a time, floating majestically in the horizon, and is afterwards obscured from view by the intervention of a dense cloud ; this illustrious nation, where poetry and oratory glowed with transcendent brightness; where philosophy diffused its mild and benignant influence; where the arts and sciences flourished; was suddenly overwhelmed by a twilight race, who rushed with irresistible violence from the populous and hungry North.

“ Who," I exclaimed, indignantly, “ are these barbarians. Their progress is marked with desolation. Look, how they lay waste the country before them-look, how they overturn the cities, and massacre

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