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ELIZA.—(Darwin.) Now stood Eliza on the wood-crowned height, O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight; Sought, with bold eye, amid the bloody strife, Her dearer self, the partner of her life ; From hill to hill the rushing host pursued, And viewed his banner, or believed she viewed. Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread, Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led; And one fair girl amid the loud alarm Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm ; While round her brows bright beams of honour dart, And Love's warm eddies circle round her heart. --Near, and more near, the intrepid beauty pressed, Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest, Heard the exulting shout “They run ! they run !” “O Heaven !” she cried, “he's safe ! the battle's won !” - A ball now hisses through the airy tides (Some fury winged it, and some demon guides,) Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck ; The red stream, issuing from her azure veins, Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains.

-“ Ah me!” she cried, and sinking on the ground, Kissed her dear babes, regardless of the wound ; “Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn; Wait, gushing life, oh, wait my love's return !” Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far ! The angel, Pity, shuns the walks of war ! “Oh, spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender age ! On me, on me," she cried, “exhaust your rage ! Then with weak arms her weeping babes caressed, And sighing, hid them in her blood-stained vest.

From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes ; Eliza's name along the camp he calls, “Eliza” echoes through the canvas walls. Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread, O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead ; Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood, Lo! dead Eliza, weltering in her blood ! -Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds, With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds :"Speak low,” he cries, and gives his little hand, “Mamma's asleep upon the dew-cold sand, Alas ! we both with cold and hunger quakeWhy do you weep – Mamma will soon awake.” -"'She'll wake no more !” the hopeless mourner cried,

Upturned his eyes, and clasped his hands, and sighed;
Stretched on the ground awhile entranced he lay,
And pressed warm kisses on the lifeless clay ;
And then upsprung with wild convulsive start,
And all the father kindled in his heart :
“O Heaven !” he cried, “my first rash vow forgive !
These bind to earth, for these I pray to live !”
Round his chill babes he wrapped his crimson vest,

And clasped them, sobbing, to his aching breast.
BINGEN ON THE RHINE. (Hon. Mrs. Norton.)
A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers ;
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears ;
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,
And bent with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.
The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand,
And he said, “I never more shall see my own, my native land :
Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine,
For I was born at Bingen-at Bingen on the Rhine.
“Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground,
That we fought the battle bravely; and when the day was done,
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun.
And ’midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars-
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars ;
But some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline ;
And one had come from Bingen- fair Bingen on the Rhine.
“Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age,
For I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage ;
For my father was a soldier, and, even as a child,
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ;
And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword;
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine,
On the cottage-wall at Bingen-calm Bingen on the Rhine.
“Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head,
When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread;
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast

eye, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine,) For the honour of old Bingen—dear Bingen on the Rhine ! “ There's another--not a sister ; in the happy days gone by, You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; Too innocent for coquetry-too fond for idle scorning ! Ah, friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning !

Tell her the last night of my life (for ere this moon be risen
My body will be out of pain-my soul be out of prison)
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine
On the vine clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine !
“I saw the blue Rhine sweep along; I heard, or seemed to hear
The German songs we used to sing in chorus sweet and clear ;
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,
That echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ;
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk
Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk ;
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine ;-
But we'll meet no more at Bingen-loved Bingen on the Rhine !”
His voice grew faint and hoarser ; his grasp was childish weak;
His eyes put on a dying look ; he sighed, and ceased to speak.
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled ;
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land-was dead !
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown;
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine !

THE TEAR OF REPENTANCE.(Moore.) ONE morn a Peri at the gate of Eden stood, disconsolate; and as she listened to the springs of life within, like music flowing, and caught the light upon her wings through the half-open portal glowing, she wept to think her recreant race should e'er have lost that glorious place! “How happy,” exclaimed this child of air, "are the holy spirits who wander there, ’mid flowers that never shall fade or fall! Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, one blossom of heaven out-blooms them all !” The glorious angel who was keeping the gates of light, beheld her weeping; and, as he nearer drew and listened, a tear within his eyelids glistened. “Nymph of a fair but erring line!” gently he said, "one hope is thine : 'Tis written in the book of fate, The Peri yet may be forgiven, who brings to this eternal gate the gift that is most dear to heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin ; 'tis sweet to let the pardoned in." Rapidly as comets run to the embraces of the sun, down the blue vault the Peri flies, and, lighted earthward by a glance that just then broke from Morning's eyes, hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. Over the vale of Baalbec winging, the Peri sees a child at play, among the rosy wild-flowers singing, as rosy and as wild as they; chasing, with eager hands and eyes, the beautiful blue damsel-flies that fluttered round the jasmine stems, like winged flowers or flying gems: and near the boy, who, tired with play, now nestling 'mid the roses lay, she saw a wearied man dismount from his hot steed, and on the brink of a small temple's rustic fount impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turned to the fair child, who fearless sat-though never yet hath day-beam burned upon a brow more fierce than that-sullenly fiercea mixture dire, like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire, in which the Peri's eye could read dark tales of many a ruthless deed. Yet tranquil now, that man of crime (as if the balmy evening time softened his spirit) looked and lay, watching the rosy infant's play; though still, whene'er his eyes by chance fell on the boy's, its lurid glance met that unclouded, joyous gaze, as torches that have burnt all night encounter inorning's glorious rays. But hark! the vesper call to prayer, as slow the orb of daylight sets, is rising sweetly on the air from Syria's thousand minarets! The boy has started from the bed of flowers, where he had laid his head, and down upon the fragrant sod kneels, with his forehead to the south, lisping the eternal name of God from purity's own cherub mouth; and looking, while his hands and eyes are lifted to the glowing skies, like a stray babe of Paradise, just lighted on that flowery plain, and seeking for its home again! And how felt he, the wretched man reclining there-while memory ran o'er many a year of guilt and strife that marked the dark flood of his life, nor found one sunny resting-place, nor brought him back one branch of grace? “ There was a time,” he said, in mild, heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child ! when young, and haply pure as thou, I looked and prayed like thee; but now—" he hung his head; each nobler aim and hope and feeling, which had slept from boyhood's hour, that instant came fresh o'er him, and he wept—he wept! And now ! behold him kneeling there, by the child's side in humble prayer, while the same sunbeam shines upon the guilty and the guiltless one, and hymns of joy proclaim through heaven the triumph of a soul forgiven ! 'Twas when the golden orb had set, while on their knees they lingered yet, there fell a light-more lovely far than ever came from sun or star—upon the tear that, warm and meek, dewed that repentant sinner's cheek : to mortal eye this light might seem a northern flash or meteor beam ; but well the enraptured Peri knew 'twas a bright smile the angel threw from heaven's gate, to hail that tear-her harbinger of glory near! “ Joy! joy!” she cried ; “my task is done-the gates are passed, and heaven is won !"

SOMEBODY'S DARLING.—(Lacoste.)
Into a ward of the white-washed halls,

Where the dead and the dying lay,
Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls,

Somebody's darling was borne one day-
Somebody's darling, so young and so brave,

Wearing yet on his pale sweet face,
Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave,

The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.
Matted and damp are the curls of gold,

Kissing the snow of that fair young brow,
Pale are the lips of delicate mould-

Somebody's darling is dying now.

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