XXIII. The drum hath ceased to roll, That despot's dreams are o'er ; And the conflicts of his stormy soul, Are stilled for evermore! XXIV. His empires all are gone; His trappings, once so proud; A rock-bound grave is his only throne; XXV. And he, whose dread commands Hath claimed, at length, from alien hands, A lone, unhonoured tomb! THE CHOICE. BY MRS. ALARIC WATTS. If she seem not fair to me, What care I how fair she be! Wither. I. TELL me not that she is fair, Queen-like in her mien and air; Graceful, as the silver swan She no Goddess is to me! II. Tell me not that beauty lies If, to prove her beauty's power, Call up warmest hopes, and then She no Goddess is to me! III. Though the lore of ancient days,— She no Goddess is to me! IV. Though to her creative hand Painting hath resigned her wand ;- Though the gifts of all the Nine If, when self-conceit be near, She o'ercome the wish to shine ;- THE BRIDAL OF BELMONT, A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 66 BY THE AUTHOR OF LILLIAN. WHERE foams and flows the glorious Rhine, Many a ruin wan and gray, O'erlooks the corn-field and the vine, Majestic in its dark decay. Among their dim clouds, long ago, They mocked the battles that raged below, Than these, the walls of Belmont Tower. Where foams and flows the glorious Rhine, Many a fierce and fiery lord Did carve the meat, and pour the wine, |