A BITTER cheat, and here at length it ends, A seeming false over my state is thrown, II. Weep'st thou to see the ruin and decay Temples of gods and palaces of kings? But overthrown with sighs and sapp'd with tears; And incense sweet of willing sacrifice. III. The fountains of my life, which flowed so free; The plenteous waves which, brimming, gushed along, Bright, deep, and swift, with a perpetual song, Doubtless have long since seemed dried up to thee. How should they not? From the shrunk narrow bed Where once that glory flowed, have ebbed away Disturb the wells whence that sad stream takes birth, The swollen waters once again gush forthDark bitter floods rolling in wild unrest. Beneath my mail throbs with a faint unrest- thee. V. I dream I see thy form, with frantic clasp I dream I hear thy voice, I start, and rise, Oh, wilt thou ne'er return? can no one day THE TWO MARYS AT THE TOMB OF CHRIST. BY REV. CHAS. B. TAYLER. What of the night? The angry heavens are calm, O'er banks of flowers the plaintive night-breeze sighing, Wafts through the dewey glades their odorous balm, The golden light, in cloudless glory dying, Blends with the purple shadows deepening round The garden and the tomb, by Calvary's awful mound. What of the night? In the soft spreading gloom Pale women sit, their lonely vigil keeping, Silent and thoughtful by the hallowed tomb, Where the cold corpse of their loved Lord was sleeping. The conflict and the agony are past, And in that quiet grave the sufferer rests at last. What of the night? They answered not a word; Those faithful women, hopeless and heartbroken, With drooping heads, hands clasped, in sad accord, Heedless they sat, and not a word was spoken, Till one her sweet, her sorrowing face did raise, And fixed upon the tomb her loving, steadfast gaze. What of the night? she said; "Our night is come, How do we sit and weep in hopeless sorrow, The Lord of Life lies buried in the tomb, And joy can gild no more our cheerless morrow. What of the night? Ah! can it e'er be morn To hearts o'erwhelmed like ours, and utterly forlorn?" What of the world? Oh! women meekly strong, While others sleep, your wakeful vigils keeping, Fearless and faithful 'mid the faithless throng, A joyful morn succeeds your night of weeping! Satan and death this night, in deadly strife, Fell vanquished by the Lord of everlasting life! From the Metropolitan. OLD FRIENDS! BY MRS. CRAWFORD. Old friends! old friends! the dear old friends Ah! who can make the heart amends Old Friends! Old Friends! Old friends! old friends! can we forget Those days of golden prime, When round our father's hearth we met, And our merry voices' chime Made the old hall ring to the roof with joy, As we sang the songs of yore, Or danced to the strains of the harper boy, On the bright old oaken floor? Old Friends! Old Friends! Old friends! old friends! as time rolls on, SLEEP. BY THOMAS ROSCOE. Sweet death of each day's weary laden life! Balm of hurt minds-care's nurse-heart-soothing sleep! Soft air the mourner's couch thy calm watch keep. No sigh-no murmur wake past thoughts of strife; Nor Hope's fond dream with troubled visions rife Breathe o'er the folded lids thy still dews steep; No memory's scenes again to live-to weepThe conscious bosom bare to fate's sharp knife. Oh, blest forgetfulness! thy votary's prayer In hour of fiercest pangs to thee ascends, Thee the wish'd haven of his heart's despair, His genius of the stormy deep that sends His shatter'd bark swift through life's seas of care To that far shore where his strange voyage ends. THREE MANSIONS. From a Passage in "Memoirs of the Rev. Legh Richmond." BY MRS. G. G. RICHARDSON. O homeless and unsheltered head- Go lowly to the House of Prayer, With steadfast faith and contrite breast; The narrow house that all must share Will then afford a welcome rest. Join but the three in constant thought The House of God, the Grave, and Heaven, And all by sin and sorrow wrought Shall pass away and be forgiven. Within these three what strangers meet! From the Metropolitan. STANZAS TO THE ART OF PRINTING." Hail, happy art! enlight'ner of mankind, To thee fair science owes a second birth, Exhaustless fountain! o'er whose genial spring Delightful solacer of human cares ! Guardian of freedom! nurse of useful arts! And whilst a spark of liberty remains Thy foes would forge for thee shall powerless prove To bind thee, champion of the rights we love! All praise be his who first to Albion's shore- Each seeking with its like to twine, These are his gifts, that strongest glow Which can but half its radiance show, Soul-lit at his behest! Alone!-through childhood's lagging hours, Alone!-for even then begin Even in just proportion due As the young heart is warm Torn are the tendrils soft and strong, They struggled towards the light! Alone! we never know how much, A fardel made of many things, Of sorrows unforeseen, And hopes whose knell keen memory rings To show-what might have been! Life's errors wreck the little store Of time which moulds our fate: And seldom beacons shine before, But mock us when too late. Alone-Alone !-each highest thought From Tait's Magazine. THE HARMONY OF NATURE. The timid Night had set her sentinels O'er the blue fields of heaven; a warm breeze blew From the poetic south, the clime where dwells Methought I stood with Nature, soul to soul, And asked her if her bosom had its strife As well as ours. She gathered up her stole And answered mild, My attributes ye see, Love, Beauty, Music-Can they disagree? MISCELLANEOUS. ANECDOTES OF THE SWAN-RIVER NATIVES.Mr. F. Armstrong, interpreter to the natives of Western Australia, has communicated the following interesting anecdotes to the Perth Inquirer. are the most easy to ascend; and one which appeared a favorite retreat for game was observed to be completely covered with paths or marks made by the natives year after year, upwards of one hundred and fifty cuts being visible on the trunk alone. They appear seldom if ever to cut in the same spot again. Native Dexterity-A singular instance of the expertness and boldness in climbing of the natives was observed some time ago near the south bank of the Murray River. An opossum had made its way up a tree which was not accessible to the na- Native Tradition.-The natives state that they tive who had discovered its retreat. He com- have been told, from age to age, that when man menced by ascending the tree adjoining, some first began to exist, there were two beings, male yards distant, when a long pole of apparently com- and female, named "Wal-lyne-yup" (the father), mon furze-wood was handed to him, and which and "Do-ron-nop" (the mother); that they had a he by some means took up the tree, until he ar- son, named Bin-dir-woor, who received a deadly rived at a part where he was within about twelve wound, which they carefully endeavored to heal, or fourteen feet of the other; he then managed to but totally without success; whereupon it was deplace the pole securely in a fork on the boughs of clared by Wal-lyne-yup that all who came after each tree, and then upon this fragile path walked him should also die in like manner as his son died. or crept across, killed the opossum (which, likely, Could the wound but have been healed in this case, he devoured at a meal), and returned, leaving what being the first, the natives think death would have he had done. The manner in which the natives had no power over them. The place where the find the identical track of the opossum is by exa- scene occurred, and where Bin-dir-woor was bumining the trees for the marks made by the ani- ried, the natives imagine to have been on the mal's claws, but which alone does not generally southern plains, between Clarence and the Murwarrant an ascent being made, for they may have ray; and the instrument used is said to have been been done weeks before. To get over this diffi- a spear, thrown by some unknown being, and diculty, the natives blow on the marks, and if a little rected by some supernatural power. The tradition sand or earth falls off, then they are certain that goes on to state, that "Bin-dir-woor, the son, althey are recent, for otherwise the sun would have though deprived of life, and buried in his grave, dried the grains, and they would have fallen off, did not remain there, but rose and went to the which, from the dew or rain of the night, had clung west, to the unknown land of spirits, across the to the feet of the animal, and then on to the tree. sea. The parents followed after their son, but (as These signs being attended to, the natives ascend the natives suppose) were unable to prevail upon the tree in the well-known manner, by cutting in him to return, and they consequently have reand through the bark small steps about two feet mained with him ever since." Mr. Armstrong apart, and four inches wide, by one or two deep. says of this tradition, that “it is the nearest apSome large, straight, thin-barked trees, which proach to truth, and the most reasonable he has stand quite perpendicular, without any branches yet heard among the natives;" and it is certainly for a considerable distance up, are totally inac-highly curious, as showing their belief that man cessible to the natives, though these are extremely few in comparison with the other trees of the forest. Where it is the case, game seems plentiful, beaten tracks being numerous. Trees which lean a little originally was not made subject to death, and as giving the first intimation we have heard of their ideas of the manner in which death was introduced into the world. coast. on being separated from his brothers; and as it is not long, I will translate it from the French translation. It will give some idea of Arab poet powers in particular; but of course great allowance must be made for the effect it loses in a double translation. It runs as follows: "PRAISE BE TO GOD. "1. Black ball of my eye-soul of all my being-mild spring of my heart-strength animating my arm; 2. Your presence recreates my sight. By arrows; and since the hour when you departed 3. But destiny has pierced my eyes with his from me, no sight has rejoiced my regards. By the Master of the Temple (Mahomet), neither 4. What thing after you can recreate my heart? pleasure nor fortune! fainted; and my tears fell on account of the over5. At the instant of your departure my soul 6. My patience exhausted, exists not; but deconceive the limits of it but at the bounds of vouring grief will not go away; and I cannot eternity. 7. The flesh of the delicious date has been eaten. The bony heart of the fruit rests naked, deprived of its envelope. TELEGRAPHIC COMMUNICATION BETWEEN FRANCE AND ENGLAND. Amidst the many won derful inventions of modern days, wherein the faculties of man have overcome difficulties appa-ry in general, and of Abd-el- Kader's poetical rently insurmountable, and made the very elements themselves subservient to his power and use, there are none more wonderful than that now about to be carried out by the establishment of sub-marine telegraphs, by which an instantaneous communication will be effected between the coasts of England and France. The British government, by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, and the French government, by the Minister of the Interior, have granted permission to two gentlemen, the projectors of the sub-you, my heart, full of delight, despises riches, marine telegraph, to lay it down from coast to forgets paternal affection. The site selected is from Cape Grosnez, or from Cape Blancnez, on the French side, to the South Foreland on the English coast. The soundings between these headlands are gradual, varying from seven fathoms near the shore on either side, to a maximum of thirty-seven fathoms in mid-channel. The Lords of the Admiralty have also granted permission to the same gentle-flowing of my heart. men to lay down a sub-marine telegraph between Dublin and Holyhead, which is to be carried on from the latter place to Liverpool and Londen. The sub-marine telegraph across the English Channel will, however, be the one first laid down; the materials for this are already uudergoing the process of insulation, and are in that state of forwardness which will enable the projectors to have them completed and placed in position, so that a telegraphic communication can be transmitted across the Channel about the first week in June. When this is completed, an electric_telegraph will be established from the coast to Paris, and thence to Marseilles. This telegraph throughout France will be immediately under the direction of the French government, as, according to the law of 1837, all telegraphic communications through that country are under the absolute control and superintendence of the Minister of the Interior. Upon the completion of the submarine telegraph across the English Channel, it is stated that a similar one, on a most gigantic scale, will be attempted to be formed, under the immediate sanction and patronage of the French administration; this is no less than that of connecting the shores of Africa with those of Europe by the same instrumentality, thus opening a direct and lightning-like communication between Marseilles and Algeria. It has been doubted by several scientific men whether this is practicable, and, indeed, whether even the project between the coasts of France and England can be accomplished; but it has been proved by experiments, the most satisfactory in their results, that not only can it be effected, but effected without any considerable difficulty A POEM BY ABD-EL-KADER!-In a recent razzia in Algiers, the French seized the tents of the renowned hero Abd-el-Kader. Among other things, many of his papers fell into their hands; and in these papers there was found a manuscript poem written by Abd-el-Kader himself. Who would have believed that a semi-barbarian, engaged in deadly war, amused his leisure hours by poetical composition? Yet such appears to be the case. The poem in question is a lamentation me: my heart is insensible to the gifts I receive, 8. Since you left me, joy has flown far from as to those that I make. was for me only the course which a messenger 9. When you disappeared, my life without you makes. 10. Your absence has rendered my nights long-so far as to drive from my thoughts the hope of attaining the term of it. 11. How many times have I cried, when the but a vain image that offers itself to my view? sun dissipated darkness-O SAID! art thou, then, to reanimate my body-O MOSTAFA! Is it a 12. And yet my soul, in these moments, comes remedy for grief? bitterest agonies; but nothing can prevent the 13. To be separated from HocEIN is one of my accomplishment of the decree of God among creatures. 14. After the torments of separation, chance, generous at last, will it bring about a union which will recal to life whom the loss of hope has con ducted to death? 15. If this ardent desire be ever fulfilled, my body will recover its strength and its soul. 16. O my brethren! O you who are united to me by our same father; who are dear to me by affection, a bond solid and durable; 17. Be in this life as were those who have preceded us. They are no more! Endeavor, like them, to acquire, by your deeds, glory that cannot be contested. 18. If fortune comes to you, distribute its gifts. If she turns away, content yourselves with the affection which unites us. 19. May the fecund cloud of my salutations expand over you. May their perfume extend in unbounded space! 20. Be a bond to unite friends wherever they may be. A friend is to me as the brother the most dear!" |