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His eyes in tears, his feet in blood,
Full sorrowful is he!

For princess high this knight doth sigh,
Fair Moriana she.

She captive by the Moors was led
The morning of St. John,

As passed the hours while gathering flowers
That in her garden shone.

And now her eyes the princess raised,—
That knight she knows full well!
With radiance shone the tears which on
The Moor's dark visage fell.

Up starteth Galvan hastily,
Who thus to say begun :-

Now, lady mine! what aileth thee?
Who wrong to thee hath done?

If of a Moor thou dost complain,
The rash offender dies;

If of thy damsels, noble dame!
I them will soon chastise.

And if the Christians thee do harm,
My wrath on them shall light:
My glory is in war's alarm-

My pastime is to fight.

"The flinty rock my couch doth claim;
I sleep with watchful eye !'-
Not of thy brethren I complain;

No Moor for me must die:

'Nor would I that my maidens good
Through me should suffer ill,
Nor would I that the Christians' blood

Again thy hands should spill.

But of this sorrow now so deep,

The truth to thee I vouch;

For know! among these mountains steep,

I saw a knight approach.

VOL. 11. July, 1829.

D

That knight, sir Moor, full well I ween,
My own betrothed is like.'

To raise his hand the Moor is seen,
That princess sad to strike.

His teeth which erst so white did show,
With gushing blood are red;
And at his beck his servants go,
That lady to behead.

And from the place where she must die,
Her lover she espies;

And in her mortal agony,

With tenderness she cries:

'My death I view-a Christian true-
Till now I ne'er confessed,
That yon fair knight, my own delight,
Doth rule within my breast.'

STANZAS.

GENTLY, slowly, rising
From a cloud behind,
See the night orb dawning
Like genius o'er the mind.
Now the meridian gaining,
Behold she rolls along,
As eastern queens, surrounded,
Shine brightest of the throng.
Mark her decreasing splendour
As the brighter orb ascends,
Till paler, paler fading,

Her former beauty ends.
So till religious power

Illumes the Christian's mind,
In this world's fading treasures
Some pleasure he may find.
But when religion's spirit,

As the brighter orb, ascends, His soul, from this world turning, Before a better bends.

DYING LACONICS.

THE late John Philpot Curran, in one of his splendid orations, said, 'the hour of dissolution is a period of more than ordinary illumination.' Many have at that moment spoken with a prophetic air, to which the local associations added an imposing solemnity. The instances, too, of death-bed repentance, or recantation, are innumerable; and on that account the disciples of Voltaire deny the truth of Curran's assertion. They deny that Voltaire, when expiring, wished to return into the bosom of the church, and contend that, even if he had, his conduct might be fairly attributed to a cause very different from that described by Mr. Curran. Leaving the partisans of each to argue that point, we shall pass on to another frequent attendant upon the parting hour '--we mean stoicism, or rather an extraordinary mode in which it is manifested: confining ourselves to cases where the actors had not been debilitated either in mind or body by previous indisposition; and who, consequently, and indisputably, died in the full possession of their faculties.

The origin of the ostentatious, and somewhat pompous, declarations and expressions of expiring martyrs and heroes is quite obvious. But it would puzzle a Locke to analyze that irrepressible levity displayed by persons in momentary expectation of death, and culprits at the place of execution-that levity and self-possession, apparently so unbecoming, so incompatible with their dreadful situation, and which belong not exclusively to either sex, neither to the strong nor the weak, to the Christian nor the infidel.

'Extremes meet,' and every one has, at one time or other, experienced the difficulty of refraining from loud laughter at the merest trifle, on the most solemn, nay, melancholy occasions. This is nervous excitement but jests, bon-mots, witticisms, even practical jokes, require a disengaged mind, an arrangement of the intellect. When a man has uttered a good thing, or

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composed a pointed epigram, he is said to have been very happy but how can that expression apply to the last words of a wretched culprit, about to step into the grave? They may be called paradoxical phenomena, of which we shall subjoin a few striking instances, and which we consider not unworthy the contemplation of the philosopher.

Anne Boleyn, on the scaffold, it is well known, grasped her small, but lovely neck, and, with a smile, remarked it would not give the executioner much trouble to divide it.

The late Duke of Orleans, surnamed Egalité, having been condemned to death by his associates, was guillotined at the same time with a great number of minor culprits. His grace is said to have died with some courage; he, however, had no ambition for precedency; and, on the scaffold, pushed forward one of his unfortunate fellow-sufferers-a hair-dresser. The latter turned round, and perceiving who the distinguished individual was who thus acted the usher, with a low bow, and a polite air, made way for the duke, saying, Après vous, Monseigneur !'

When the infamous Danton was about to make his exit on the same bloody stage, he also had many companions in misfortune, one of whom approached Danton to salute (kiss) him, which was customary with those in their unhappy situation. Danton declined the embrace as unnecessary, for you know,' said he, 'our heads will meet in the sack!'

An English clergyman, the Reverend Mr. Jackson, was found guilty of high treason in Dublin, about the year 1794. The day after his conviction he was brought up to receive sentence. He had previously been advised that forfeiture and attainder could not attach unless the sentence was formally pronounced. On being placed at the bar, his leading counsel, the late Mr. Mac Nally, proceeded to argue an arrest of judgment; having nearly concluded, Jackson earnestly entreated him to continue, and to speak against time; 'for,' added he, with a ghastly smile, we have de

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ceived the senate!' He was, at that moment, in the agonies of death, having swallowed poison previous to his leaving the gaol, and in a few minutes after expired in the dock, before the dreadful sentence of the law could be pronounced.

In September, 1798, the unfortunate Theobald Wolfe Tone was taken prisoner by Sir J. B. Warren, in the Hoche, which formed part of a French expedition for the invasion of Ireland. He had been a barrister of eminence of Dublin, but held then the rank of general of division in the French service. He was sent to Dublin, where he was tried by court-martial, and sentenced to death. He requested to be shot by a file of grenadiers, in order that his (French) uniform should not be dishonoured.' This was refused; and in consequence he determined to die by his own hand: he stabbed himself in the throat with a pen-knife. A surgeon was immediately sent for, who examined the wound. Is it mortal?' asked Tone. 'I think not,' replied the surgeon. I am sorry for it,' rejoined Tone; for I find I am a bad anatomist!' He died of the wound, however, in the course of the day.

In the month of May, 1798, the Irish rebels had taken prisoner the late general the Earl of Ludlow, near Tara, in the county of Meath. His lordship was then an old man; surrounded by an armed, but unrestrained, and unorganized body of men, who threatened every instant to put him to death, he preserved the greatest composure. Amongst other crimes, the rebels reproached him with being an aristocrat, in these words 'Oh, you old tyrant! you do not like liberty! I beg your pardon, boys,' said his lordship; 'there is not one amongst you wishes for liberty more than I do.' The rebels understood him, cheered, and suffered him to depart.

To similar presence of mind, it is well known, the Abbé (afterwards Cardinal,) Maury owed his life. The sans culottes were dragging him to execution, with cries of à la lanterne! à la lanterne !' Well,' said the

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