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And Famine, and the ghastly train of woes,
That follow at the dogged heels of War?
They in the pomp and pride of victory
Rejoicing, o'er the desolated earth,

As at an altar wet with human blood,
And flaming with the fire of cities burn't,
Sing their mad hymns of triumph, hymns to God
O'er the destruction of his gracious works,-
Hymns to the Father o'er his slaughter'd sons.
Detested be their sword, abhorr'd their name,
And scorn'd the tongues that praise them!



By Wordsworth.

I hate that Andrew Jones: he'll bring
His children up to waste and pillage.
I wish the press gang, or the drum
With its tantara sound would come
And sweep him from the village.

I said not this, because he loves

Through the day long to swear and tipple;
But for the poor, dear sake of one,
To whom a foul deed he has done-
A friendless man, a travelling cripple.

For this poor, crawling, helpless wretch,
Some horseman who was passing by,
A penny from his purse had thrown;
But the poor cripple was alone,

And could not stoop-no help was nigh.

Inch thick the dust lay on the ground,
For it had long been droughty weather;
So with his staff the cripple wrought
Among the dust, till he had brought
The half-pennies together.

It chanced that Andrew pass'd that way
Just at the time: and there he found
The cripple, in the mid-day heat,
Standing alone-and at his feet,

He saw the penny on the ground.

He stoop'd and took the penny up;
And when the cripple nearer

Quoth Andrew, "under half a crown,
What a man finds is all his own-

And so my friend, good day to you."

And hence I said that Andrew's boys
Would all be train'd to waste and pillage,
And wish'd the press-gang or the drum
With its tantara sound would come

And sweep him from the village.


The ballad of Cumnor Hall was first printed in Evan's Collection of Old Ballads, edit. 1784, vol. iv. with the antique spelling of queen Elizabeth's period.-In a subsequent edition of this interesting work, in 1810, the poem was modernized, and from that, the copy has been taken which is now presented to the reader:

THE dews of summer night did fall,

The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall,

And many an oak that grew thereby.
Now nought was heard beneath the skies,
The sounds of busy life were still,
Save an unhappy lady's sighs,

That issued from that lonely pile.

"Leicester," she cried, " is this thy love
That thou so oft has sworn to me,
To leave me in this lonely grove,
Immured in shameful privity?

"No more thou com'st with lover's speed,
Thy once beloved bride to see;

But be she alive, or be she dead,

I fear, stern Earl's, the same to thee.

66 Not so the usage I receiv'd
When happy in my father's hall:
No faithless husband then me griev'd;
No chiding fears did me appal.

"I rose up with the cheerful morn,

No lark more blithe, no flow'r more gay;
And like the bird that haunts the thorn,
So merrily sung the live-long day.

"If that my beauty is but small,
Among court ladies all despised;

Why didst thou rend it from that hall,

Where, scornful Earl, it well was priz'd

"And when you first to me made suit,
How fair I was you oft would say!
And, proud of conquest-pluck'd the fruit,
Then left the blossom to decay.


Yes, now neglected and despis'd, The rose is pale-the lily's deadBut he that once their charms so priz'd, Is, sure, the cause those charms are fled.

"For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey, And tender love's repaid with scorn, The sweetest beauty will decay—

What flow'ret can endure the storm?

"At court, I'm told is beauty's throne,
Where every lady's passing rare;
That eastern flow'rs, that shame the sun,
Are not so glowing, not so fair.

"Then Farl, why didst thou leave the beds
Where roses and where lilies vie,
To seek a primrose, whose pale shades
Must sicken-when those gaudes are by?

"'Mong rural beauties I was one,

Among the fields wild flow'rs are fair; Some country swain might me have won, And thought my beauty passing rare.

"But, Leicester, or I much am wrong, Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows; Rather ambition's gilded crown

Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.

"Then Leicester, why, again I plead, (The injur'd surely may repine,), Why didst thou wed a country maid, When some fair princess might be thine?

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Why didst thou praise my humble charms, And oh! then leave them to decay?

Why didst thou win me to thy arms,

Then leave me to mourn the live-long day.

"The village maidens of the plain
Salute me lowly as they go;
Envious they mark my silken train,
Nor think a Countess can have wo.

"The simple nymphs! they little know;
How far more happy's their estate-
To smile for joy-than sigh for wo-
To be content-than to be great.

"How far less blest am I than them!
Daily to pine and waste with care!
Like the poor plant that from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air.

"Nor cruel Earl! can I enjoy
The humble charms of solitude;
Your minions proud my peace destroy,
By sullen frowns or pratings rude.

"Last night, as sad I chanc'd to stray,
The village death-bell smote my ear;
They wink'd aside, and seem'd to say
Countess, prepare-thy end is near.
"And now, while happy peasants sleep,
Here I sit lonely and forlorn;
No one to sooth me as I weep,

Save Philomel on yonder thorn.

"My spirits flag-my hopes decay-
Still that dread death-bell smites my ear;
And many a boding seems to say,
Countess prepare-thy end is near."

Thus sore and sad that lady griev'd,
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear,
And many a heart-felt sigh she heav'd,
And let fall many a bitter tear.

And ere the dawn of day appear'd
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear,
Full many a piercing scream was heard,
And many a cry of mortal fear.

The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
An aerial voice was heard to call,
And thrice the raven flapp'd his wing
Around the tow'rs of Cumnor Hall.

The mastiff howl'd at village door,
The oaks were shatter'd on the green;
Wo was the hour-for never more

That hapless Countess e'er was seen.

And in that manor now no more
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball,
For ever since that dreary hour,

Have spirits haunted Čumnor Hall.

The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall;
Nor ever lead the merry dance,

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.

Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,
And pensive wept the Countess' fall,
As wandering onwards they've espied
The haunted tow'rs of Cumnor Hall.

ART. XX.-Literary Intelligence.


We have been favoured with the perusal of a portion of a very interesting work, now in the press, in this city, entitled, an count of an Expedition from Pittsburg to the Rocky Mountains, performed in the years 1819-20, by order of the Hon. J. C. Calhoun, Secretary of War, under the command of S. H. Long, Major, United States Topographical Engineers:-from the notes of Major Long, Mr. T. Say, and other gentlemen attached to the Expedition:-compiled by Edwin James."-This work embraces a variety of Topographical information both general and particular, relative to the region traversed by the Expedition, and is accompanied by Maps, on which are delineated the routes of the Exploring party, and the most important geographical features of the country. It will be embellished also with several plates presenting landscape and other views, together with a geological Chart, exhibiting two vertical sections on the parallels of 35 and 41 degrees of North Latitude. The subjects of particular description, in addition to a brief outline of the geology of the country, are animals, plants, &c., hitherto not described. Numerous anecdotes and descriptions illustrative of the character, customs, &c., of the Savages, are introduced,-also vocabularies of several Indian languages, together with a series of meteorological and astronomical observations taken on the Expedition, The work will be comprised in two volumes octavo, of about 500 pages each.

MR. W. H. IRELAND, is preparing for the press, France for the last Seven Years, containing facts, and much valuable information hitherto unknown, with anecdotes, &c.

MR. CHARLES MILLS, author of the learned History of the Crusades, has published the first part, comprizing Italy, of Travels in various countries of Europe, at the time of the revival of Letters and Arts.

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