expired in the moment of victory, exclaiming, "To die for Liberty is a pleasure, not a pain!" Here are some of the lines:

At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power.

They fought-like brave men, long and well:
They piled that ground with Moslem slain;
They conquered-but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile-when rang their proud hurrah,

And the red field was won;

Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

HALLECK'S fine Elegy on Burns abounds with impassioned and glowing beauties.

We extract a few stanzas :

His is that language of the heart,

In which the answering heart would speak,
Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start,
Or the smile light the cheek;

What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed, What wild vows falter on the tongue, When "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," Or "Auld Lang Syne," is sung?

Pure hopes, that lift the soul above,

Come with his Cotter's Hymn of praise; And dreams of youth, and truth, and love, With Logan's banks and braes.

And when he breathes his master-lay
Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall,

All passions in our frames of clay

Come thronging at his call.

Brainard,

Pinkney, Read, Cutter,

Prentice, Cist, Gallagher, Perkins, Byron,

Crabbe, Scott, Hogg, Lamb, White, Montgomery,

Coleridge, Poe, Hemans, Southey, Moore,

Bryant, Hunt, Welby, Nichois,

Botta.

THAT the stupendous cataract of Niagara, with its picturesque

associations, should have inspired the homage of many a gifted votary of the muse, need not provoke surprise. Yet any attempt