Hark! hark!-the horrid sound See the snakes that they rear, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, And, unburied, remain Inglorious on the plain. Give the vengeance due Behold! how they toss their torches on high, And glittering temples of their hostile gods! And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy: Thais led the way, To light him to his prey; And, like another Helen-fired another Troy. Could swell the soul to rage-or kindle soft desire. At last, divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame. The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store And added strength to solemn sounds, With nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown: He raised a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down. PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 1. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENACHERIB.—Byron. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 2. THE FIELD OF GILBOA.-Knox. The sun of the morning looked forth from his throne, And there lay the husband that lately was prest To the beautiful cheek that was tearless and ruddy; But the claws of the eagle were fixed in his breast, And the beak of the vulture was busy and bloody. And there lay the son of the widowed and sad, On the delicate limbs that had ceased not to quiver. And there came the daughter, the delicate child, To hold up the head that was breathless and hoary; And there came the maiden, all frantic and wild, To kiss the loved lips that were gasping and gory. And there came the consort that struggled in vain Oh! bloody Gilboa, a curse ever lie Where the king and his people were slaughtered together: May the dew and the rain leave thy herbage to die, Thy flocks to decay, and thy forests to wither! 3. THE SHIELD.-Moore. Oh! did you not hear a voice of death? Was it a wailing bird of the gloom, Which shrieks on the house of wo all night? Or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb, To howl and to feed till the glance of light? 'Twas not the death-bird's cry from the wood, It screams for the guilt of days that are past! See! how the red, red lightning strays, And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath! Now on the leafless yew it plays, Where hangs the shield of this son of death! That shield is blushing with murderous stains, Oft by that yew on the blasted field, Demons dance to the red moon's light: While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging shield Sings to the raving spirit of night! 4. THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF.-Hemans. "Oh call my brother back to me, I cannot play alone! The summer comes with flower and bee,— Where is my brother gone? The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track; I care not now to chase its flight— The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed Around our garden tree; Our vine is drooping with its load Oh call him back to me!" "He would not hear my voice, fair child! The face that once like spring-time smiled, The rose's brief, bright light of joy, Such unto him was given; Go, thou must play alone, my boy! "And has he left his birds and flowers? And through the long, long summer hours, And by the brook, and in the glade, 5. THE GIPSY WANDERER.- —Anonymous. "Twas night, and the farmer, his fireside near, O'er a pipe quaffed his ale, stout and old; The hinds were in bed, when a voice struck his ear, "Let me in, I beseech you!" just so ran the prayer— "Let me in!—I am dying with cold." To his servant, the farmer cried—“ Sue, move thy feet, For our chimney will not lose a jot of its heat, At that instant a gipsy-girl, humble in pace— He, starting, exclaimed, “wicked fiend, quit this place! "Good sir, as our tribe passed the churchyard below, "This is craft!"-cried the farmer, "If I judge aright, |