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That despot's dreams are o'er ;
Are stilled for evermore!
His empires all are gone;
His trappings, once so proud ;-
His kingly robe a shroud !
And he, whose dread commands
To millions once were doom, Hath claimed, at length, from alien hands,
A lone, unhonoured tomb!
BY MRS. ALARIC WATTS.
If she seem not fair to me,
Tell me not that she is fair,
Tell me not that beauty lies
If, to prove her beauty's power,
Though the lore of ancient days,– Though the Bard's sublimest łays,– Though the learning of the College, Be to her familiar knowledge ;If she cannot stoop to find Wisdom in a simple mind;Be content to vail her power, In her most triumphant hour; Pallas' self although she be, She no Goddess is to me!
Though to her creative hand
V. If, when self-conceit be near, She repress the rising sneer ;If when wit be flashing round, She forbear the meek to wound;If, subdued by lore Divine, She o'ercome the wish to shine ;If Wit, Learning, Pride, or Beauty Bow before the shrine of Duty; She, whate'er her form may be, More than Goddess is to me!
THE BRIDAL OF BELMONT.
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “LILLIAN.”
WHERE foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a ruin wan and gray,
Majestic in its dark decay.
Where foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a fierce and fiery lord
For all that revelled at his board.