He raised his hands in an ecstasy,
And shouted There is no God like thee,
Great Belus!' and every votary
Echoed the words in the self-same tone;
It seemed as one mighty voice alone,
Burst from that crowd of worshippers
To greet their senseless idol's ears.
And a madd'ning cry of joy was sent
Up through the echoing firmament.

They spread the feast, the wine-cup drain, In honour of their idol's name.

Then rose the passions in their might,

And their last crimes were done that night. The hour of desolation is arrived.

Come forth! Come forth! ye unpolluted few; The angelic arm whose glory lights, and power Protects your steps, is waving o'er your path. Away! Away!

A ruddy glow is o'er the skies,

For the sun hath set once more to rise
Upon that city; but ere his race
Is run, it shall be a desert place.
An awful gloom invades the sky,—
It is the frown of the Deity!
Unbroken silence reigns around,
And that vast city hath no sound;
A suffocating influence

Pervades the atmosphere; a sense
Of coming ruin seizes all.

That fearful darkness seems the fall
Of nature, deep'ning till the light

Of the sun is lost in the gloom of night.
And o'er their spirits, a despair
Deeper than all the darkness there
Falls witheringly ;-they had no power
To invoke their idol in that hour.

It comes-it comes-the light'ning's blaze In a flash that mocks the noon-tide rays. Beneath that light the city shone, Tower, and pinnacle, and doom,

Burst for an instant on the sight,
And the next moment all was night.

Again it comes with tenfold power,

And the image of Belus, that crowned the tower
Of his proudest temple, falls beneath
The avenging lightning's burning breath.
The thunder peals around the sky,
It is the voice of the Deity,

Proclaiming their doom in eternity.
The clouds have burst-the liquid fire
Kindles the city's funeral pyre;
The flames in a fiery flood burned on,
And temples, and palaces, one by one,
Sank, as it roared and hissed in its ire
Above their turrets, higher and higher,

Till it blazed through the deep black clouds that hung
O'er the city, and gazed on the noon-day sun.
The smoke of the burning city rolled

In clouds to the Deity, and told

Their doom fulfilled, and the fearful cry
Of their pangs rose up eternally!

The rage of the gorging flames expires,
Quenched is the light of the funeral fires,
The withering sulphur-storm passed o'er,
The fated city is no more.

Its temples and palaces-where are they?
Swept in the waves of fire away.
Where are the beautiful and bright?
Wrapt, with their sin, in eternal night.
A stagnant sea, without a wave,
Marks the devoted city's grave.
There's not a breath in the atmosphere,
Nor a leaf for the passing breeze to stir;
No echo of the human voice

To make the solitude rejoice;
There is not even a wild beast's lair--
An eternal wilderness is there!

C. T. JONES.

VOL. 11. Sept. 1829,

L

THE GREY MAN.

Ar the downfall of Buonaparte none rejoiced more sincerely than the good people of Berlin. On the night of the 7th of August, 1814, the king attended the opera, the theatre was thrown open, and the whole town was brilliantly illuminated. Great pains were taken by the government to amuse the people and gratify their loyalty; the public buildings were lit up with unusual brilliancy, and the monarch, as he rode slowly through the streets, graciously returned the salutations of the enthusiastic multitude.

'I do not remember ever seeing Berlin thus,' said a young military officer to his friend, a physician, with whom he was walking outside the linden trees. The people and the buildings appear otherwise than they did: a magical glow is imprinted on every countenance: the women, in particular, are strikingly beautiful; I am truly dazzled with the splendour which surrounds us.'

The rush of the crowd prevented his hearing his friend's reply, and, while struggling against the moving mass, he was pressed hard against a strange man with an extraordinary physiognomy. He was a tall, commanding figure, and wore a grey dress. His eyes were black and flaming, thick locks overshadowed them, and his nose was hooked and large. He panted violently, though his lips were closed. His gait was determined and quick, and he appeared to glide mysteriously through the crowd. On his head he wore a small military cap; and, on his cloak being drawn accidentally aside, the officer thought he discovered a blood-red mark upon his breast: it might have been the effect of a wound, or it might be a riband.

'What a strange figure,' said the officer, and they entered Charlotte Street. A long file of coaches, coming from the gens d'armes market-place towards Beech Street, obliged them to move aside: they leaned against one of the columns before the cassino, and silently looked on the softly moving procession. The nearly extinguished lamps giving but an ambiguous

faint light, the horses, men, and coaches grew dark together; and the officer's attention was fixed upon the cavalcade, when he heard a deep sighing behind him. He became-he knew not why-as cold as ice, his heart trembled convulsively in his breast, and he was unable

to move.

'Come,' whispered the physician, 'come away, let us leave this place;' but, at the instant, the grey man walked round the column, and glided by; the flames of the fire pans, before the houses, casting their light upon him, the sign on his breast glowed as red as blood, and a humid veil seemed to rest on his dreadful eyes.

'Do not detain me,' cried the officer, vehemently, as he disengaged his arm from that of his friend, who made a slight effort to prevent his departure, I must— I will see more of this strange figure.'

In a moment he was by the grey man's side, and continued to walk along with him, although his rapidity seemed every moment to increase. He spoke not.

It was late; the candles were extinguished, a few men only were to be seen here and there in the streets, and the music at the opera square sounded feebly and lingeringly. The officer looked, from time to time, distrustfully upon his long shade-like companion: a disquieting resemblance, which he confusedly remembered, attracted his eyes: he had seen those features before they recalled to his recollection an event in the recent war, and he sighed; the grey man sighed too, and said, 'It will soon be finished!'

:

The doleful voice resounded in the officer's ear: he stepped nearer to him; and they now stood before the trophies which were waving between and behind festoons of green leaves. The king passed by at this instant on horseback, having finished his procession through the city. The officer looked cheerfully after him, and had almost forgotten the grey man, when the mysterious figure pressed his hands violently upon his eyes a piercing frightful cry issued from his breast, and immediately he resumed his restless course,

breathing indistinct lamentations. His tone of anguish and affliction entirely overwhelmed the young soldier's heart. He thought him unhappy, and wished to relieve him, but still he did not venture to speak. At length, when they were in a dark street, and nearly alone, he softly and kindly said to him: Do you search for any thing, friend? As you seem to be a stranger, probably I may be of service to you.' The stranger answered not, but looked upon him with surprise. The officer, however, continued: Do not misconceive my meaning; I think I know your features, and again I beg to inquire if I can be of any service to you?'

The stranger shook his head and whispered, hollowly, 'I seek for nothing, but something seeks for me!' Perhaps,' said the officer, 'you have experienced a painful loss in the last war, and the solemnity of this day raises terrifying remembrances which you wish to elude?'

'Yes' responded the stranger, in nearly as dreadful a manner as before.

The officer was still more interested, and kindly said, It must console you, that you also fought the good fight, and, as I suppose by the sign on your breast, vanquished by cruel sacrifices.'

The grey man only groaned convulsively, and hurried forward. An irresistible temptation to discover more of the mysterious stranger induced the officer to pursue his steps. They arrived near St. Nicholas' Church, where a few lamps were still burning, and here the grey man paused, his head sank upon his breast, and he stood, statue-like, opposite the church. The officer's eyes followed, with increasing expectation, the staring, constrained looks of the other; and presently an aged man, a woman who appeared to be his wife, and a young girl who might be their daughter, walked towards the church-yard. The girl, a slender figure, wore a long white dress, her delicate hands were joined, and her head, in a searching manner, was bent forwards. The father wore a black old-fashioned coat; in one hand