"Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," he cried,

"And tell the nations abroad,

How the fiercest of your herd has died

That slaughter'd the flock of God.

Gather him bone by bone,

And take with you o'er the flood
The fragments of that avenging stone
That drank his heathen blood.
These are the spoils from Iona's sack,
The only spoils ye shall carry back;
For the hand that uplifteth spear or sword
Shall be wither'd by palsy's shock,

And I come in the name of the Lord
To deliver a remnant of his flock."

A remnant was call'd together,

A doleful remnant of the Gael,

And the Saint in the ship that brought him hither Took the mourners to Innisfail.

Unscathed they left Iona's strand,

When the opal morn first flush'd the sky,
For the Norse dropt spear, and bow, and brand,
And look'd on them silently;

Safe from their hiding-places came
Orphans and mothers, child and dame:

But, alas! when the search for Reullura spread,
No answering voice was given,

For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head,

And her spirit was in heaven.

THE TURKISH LADY.

"Twas the hour when rites unholy Call'd each Paynim voice to prayer,

And the star that faded slowly

Left to dews the freshen'd air.

Day her sultry fires had wasted,
Calm and sweet the moonlight rose;

Even a captive spirit tasted

Half oblivion of his woes.

Then 'twas from an Emir's palace
Came an Eastern lady bright:
She, in spite of tyrants jealous,
Saw and loved an English knight.

"Tell me, captive, why in anguish

Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell, Where poor Christians as they languish Hear no sound of Sabbath bell?"

""Twas on Transylvania's Bannat,
When the Crescent shone afar,
Like a pale disastrous planet
O'er the purple tide of war—

"In that day of desolation,
Lady, I was captive made;
Bleeding for my Christian nation
By the walls of high Belgrade.”

"Captive! could the brightest jewel
From my turban set thee free ?”
"Lady, no!-the gift were cruel,
Ransom'd, yet if reft of thee.

66 Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee
Christian climes should we behold?"-
Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee
Were thy ransom paid in gold!”

66

Now in heaven's blue expansion

Rose the midnight star to view, When to quit her father's mansion Thrice she wept, and bade adieu!

“Fly we then, while none discover! Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride !". Soon at Rhodes the British lover

Clasp'd his blooming Eastern bride.

THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.

ALONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er:"Oh! whither," she cried, "hast thou wander'd, my lover?

Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore?

"What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd!"

All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd she far, When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried, By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar !

From his bosom, that heaved, the last torrent was streaming,

And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar! And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindled in war!

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight! How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war! "Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night,

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?"

"Thou shalt live," she replied, "Heaven's mercy

relieving

Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn!"

"Ah, no! the last pang of my bosom is heaving! No light of the morn shall to Henry return!

"Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true!
Ye babes of my love, that await me afar!"-
His faultering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,
When he sunk in her arms-the poor wounded
Hussar!

R