INCIDENT AT BRUGES.

IN Brugès town is many a street
Whence busy life hath fled;
Where, without hurry, noiseless feet

The grass-grown pavement tread.
There heard we, halting in the shade
Flung from a convent-tower,

A harp that tuneful prelude made
To a voice of thrilling power.

The measure, simple truth to tell,
Was fit for some gay throng;
Though from the same grim turret fell
The shadow and the song.

When silent were both voice and chords,
The strain seem'd doubly dear,

Yet sad as sweet,-for English words
Had fall'n upon the ear.

It was a breezy hour of eve;

And pinnacle and spire

Quiver'd and seem'd almost to heave,

Cloth'd with innocuous fire;

But, where we stood, the setting sun
Show'd little of his state;

And, if the glory reach'd the Nun,
'Twas through an iron grate.

Not always is the heart unwise,
Nor pity idly borne,

If even a passing Stranger sighs
For them who do not mourn.

side:

Less tribute could she pay than this,

Borne gaily o'er the sea,

Fresh from the beauty and the bliss

Of English liberty?

A JEWISH FAMILY.

IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR, UPON THE RHINE.

GENIUS of Raphael! if thy wings
Might bear thee to this glen,
With faithful memory left of things

To pencil dear and pen,

Thou wouldst forego the neighbouring Rhine,

And all his majesty—

A studious forehead to incline

O'er this poor family.

The Mother-her thou must have seen,

In spirit, ere she came

To dwell these rifted rocks between,

Or found on earth a name ;
An image, too, of that sweet Boy
Thy inspirations give-

Of playfulness, and love, and joy,
Predestined here to live.

Downcast, or shooting glances far,
How beautiful his eyes,
That blend the nature of the star
With that of summer skies!
I speak as if of sense beguil'd;
Uncounted months are gone,

Yet am I with the Jewish Child,
That exquisite Saint John.

I see the dark-brown curls, the brow,
The smooth transparent skin,
Refin'd, as with intent to show
The holiness within ;

The grace of parting Infancy

By blushes yet untam'd;
Age faithful to the mother's knee,
Nor of her arms asham'd.

Two lovely Sisters, still and sweet
As flowers, stand side by side;
Their soul-subduing looks might cheat
The Christian of his pride;

Such beauty hath th' Eternal pour'd
Upon them not forlorn,

Though of a lineage once abhorr'd,
Nor yet redeem'd from scorn.

Mysterious safeguard, that, in spite
Of poverty and wrong,

Doth here preserve a living light,

From Hebrew fountains sprung ; That gives this ragged group to cast Around the dell a gleam

Of Palestine, of glory past,

And proud Jerusalem!

LAM B.

HESTER.-A REMEMBRANCE.

WHEN maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,
With vain endeavour.

A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed
And her together.

A springy motion in her gait,
A rising step, did indicate

Of pride and joy no common rate,
That flush'd her spirit-

I know not by what name beside
I shall it call:-if 'twas not pride,
It was a joy to that allied
She did inherit.

Her parents held the Quaker rule, Which doth the human feeling cool; But she was train'd in Nature's school, Nature had blest her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,

A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,

Ye could not Hester.