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GREECE

L'aria, e l'acqua, e la terra, è d'amor piena ;
Ma, per me lasso !....
Sono un deserto.--

Petrarca.

Morn dances on the waters, day
Springs like a giant on its way;
The God of Poesy and light
Shoots up to heaven's cerulean height,
As eager still to view the clime
Where once he dwelt in pomp sublime,
And breathed his oracles, whose sound
Electrified the nations 'round;
Here rose Dodona's sacred wood;
Here Delphi's central temple stood;
And here in his light hours of mirth,

The God forsook his sacred cell
Beneath a lowlier roof to dwell,
And woo the fair ones of the earth.
Here Pindus stood-here still he stands-
The guardian of his native lands ;
He lifts to heaven his hoary peaks,
And of past glories proudly speaks.

Each lovely spot of this sweet coast Some holy presence once could boast,Some God of tutelary power Came down in his consenting hour,Some Goddess, weary of the blaze Of skies, made this her dwelling-place : The cypress-bower, the myrtle-cave, The leafy wood, the crystal wave, They haunted,-and on every hand Their incensed temples filled the land. Now we may see where'er we tread, That these bave sunk and those have fled. Of their sublime, resplendent fanes A few gray columns strew the plains; Vainly the learned brain would pore Their worn, time-eaten legends o'er, And cull their fame to fill its own Poor little record of renown. Of them a brilliant name is left By sweeping ages unbereft Such as the mind of man can give To make the unimmortals live ; Such as high inspiration brings When the rapt soul divinely sings; In praises such as flourish long From sons of everlasting song, Who bent to them the adoring knee, And so sublimely harped, that we,

Who live in these severer times,
On distant coasts in harsher climes,
Beguiled, almost, receive as true
Their brilliant tales and worship too.

B.

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ALTHOUGH, dear maid, so soon we part,
Sometimes recall the hour we met;
This hectic of a hoping heart
Forget not-ah, forget not yet!
When others praise thine angel mien
Loud in the flattering canzonet,
Who breathes thy name in songs unseen
Remember yet, remember yet!

The rose, stolen from thine own blest bower
To sweeten parting's vain regret,-
The tear which thus proclaims thy power,
Forget not, oh, forget not yet!
When others of their fondness boast,
And claim presumed affection's debt,
Whose heart says least whilst feeling most
Remember yet, remember yet!

MY GREYHOUNDS

Rememberest thou my Greyhounds true?
O'er holt or hill there never few,
From leash or slip there never sprang,
More fleet of foot or sure of fang.

Sir W. Scott.

BY THE REV. E. W. BARNARD.

Oh! dear is the naked wold to me,
Where I move alone in my majesty!
Thyme and cistus kiss my feet,
And spread around their incense sweet;
The laverock, springing from his bed,
Pours royal greeting o'er my head;
My gallant guards, my greyhounds tried,
March in order by my side ;
And every thing that 's earthly born,
Wealth, and pride, and pomp, I scorn,

And chiefly thee,
Who lift'st so high thy little horn,

Philosophy!

Wilt thou say that life is short,
That wisdom loves not hunter's sport;

But virtue's golden fruitage rather
Hopes in cloistered cell to gather?
Gallant greybounds, tell her-here,
Trusty faith, and love sincere,
Here do grace and zeal abide,
And humbly keep their master's side.
Bid her send whate'er hath sold
Human hearts-iust, power, and gold

A cursed train-
And blush to find, that on the wold

They bribe in vain.

Then let her preach! The Muse and I
Will turn to Gracchus, Gaze, and Guy;
And give to worth its proper place,
Though found in nature's lowliest race.
And when we would be great, or wise,
Lo! o'er our beads are smiling skies;
And thence we'll draw instruction true,
That worldly science never knew.
Then let her argue, as she will !-
I'll wander with my greyhounds still,

(Halloo! halloo !) And hunt for health on the breeze-worn hill,

And wisdom too.

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