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STANZAS.

BY T. HOOD, ESQ.

I REMEMBER, I remember

The house where I was born,
The little window, where the sun
Came peeping in at morn ;

He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now,
I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily cups-
Those flowers made of light;

The lilacs, where the robins built,

And where my brother set

The laburnum on his birth-day

The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air would rush as fresh To swallows on the wing;

-My spirit flew in feathers, then,

That is so heavy, now;

And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir trees, dark and high;

I used to think their slender spires

Were close against the sky;

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm further off from heaven,

Than when I was a boy!

THE SICILIAN VESPERS.

SILENCE o'er sea and earth

With the veil of evening fell,

Till the convent tower sent deeply forth The chime of its vesper bell.

One moment and that solemn sound Fell heavily on the ear;

But a sterner echo passed around;

And the boldest shook to hear.

The startled monks thronged up,

In the torch-light cold and dim ;
And the priest let fall his incense-cup,
And the virgin hushed her hymn ;
For a boding clash and a clanging tramp,
And a summoning voice was heard ;
And fretted wall and tombstone damp
To the fearful echo stirred.

The peasant heard the sound,

As he sat beside his hearth;

And the song and the dance were hushed around,
With the fireside tale of mirth.

The chieftain shook in his bannered hall,
As the sound of fear drew nigh:

And the warder shrank from the castle wall,
As the gleam of spears went by.

Wo!

wo!. to the stranger then,

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At the feast and flow of wine,

In the red array of mailed men,

Or bowed at the holy shrine;

For the wakened pride of an injured land
Had burst its iron thrall:

From the plumed chief to the pilgrim band,

Wo! wo!-to the sons of Gaul!

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Proud beings fell that hour,

With the young and passing fair,

And the flame went up from dome and tower ; The avenger's arm was there!

The stranger priest at the altar stood,
And clasped his beads in prayer,

But the holy shrine grew dim with blood;
The avenger found him there!

Wo!-wo!-to the sons of Gaul,
The serf and mailed lord;

They were gathered darkly, one and all,
To the harvest of the sword;

And the morning sun with a quiet smile
Shone out o'er hill and glen,
On ruined temple and mouldering pile,
And the ghastly forms of men.

Aye the sunshine sweetly smiled,

As its early glance came forth;

It had no sympathy with the wild
And terrible things of earth;

And the man of blood that day might read,
In a language freely given,

How ill his dark and midnight deed

Became the calm of heaven.

THE SHIP'S DEPARTURE.

BY JOHN WILSON.

AND lo! upon the murmuring waves
A glorious shape appearing !

A broad-winged vessel through the shower
Of glimmering lustre steering!

As if the beauteous ship enjoyed

The beauty of the sea,

She lifteth up her stately head,

And saileth joyfully.

A lovely path before her lies,
A lovely path behind ;

She sails amid the loveliness,

Like a thing with heart and mind.

Fit pilgrim through a scene so fair,
Slowly she beareth on ;

A glorious phantom of the deep,

Risen up to meet the moon.

The moon bids her tenderest radiance fall

On her wavy streamer and snow-white wings,

And the quiet voice of the rocking sea

To cheer the gliding vision sings.
Oh! ne'er did sky and water blend

In such a holy sleep,

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