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(When all the happy groves rejoice
In list'ning to her charmed voice)
Unnumbered forms that faintly show
The joys that blossomed long ago.-
O! what delighted hours were mine,
Ere youth's fresh morn had ceas'd to shine,
When down the vale I loved to stray,
And brush the trembling dews away!
While fancy-wing'd the minutes flew,
I counted every bud that blew;
And chased the butterfly-so fair,
Gay fluttering through the fields of air,
Or watched, while on the floret's breast
He paused, his painted wings to rest.

*

*

PORTUGUEZE HYMN TO THE VIRGIN MARY,

"THE STAR OF THE SEA.”

Translated at Sea, in the Santo Antonio.-JOHN LEYDEN.

STAR of the wide and pathless sea,
Who lovest on mariners to shine,
Those votive garments wet to thee

We hang within thy holy shrine.

When o'er us flushed the surging brine,

Amid the warring waters tost,

We called no other name but thiné,
And hoped, when other hope was lost,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the vast and howling main,
When dark and lone is all the sky,
And mountain-waves o'er ocean's plain,
Erect their stormy heads on high;
When virgins for their true loves sigh,
And raise their weeping eyes to thee,
The star of Ocean heeds their cry,
And saves the foundering bark at sea.
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the dark and stormy sea,

When wrecking tempests round us rave,

Thy gentle virgin form we see

Bright rising o'er the hoary wave. The howling storms that seem to crave Their victims, sink in music sweet; The surging seas recede to pave The path beneath thy glistening feet, Ave Maris Stella !

Star of the desert waters wild,
Who pitying hears the seaman's cry,
The God of mercy, as a child,

On that chaste bosom loves to lie;
While soft the chorus of the sky
Their hymns of tender mercy sing,
And angel voices name on high,
The mother of the heavenly king,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the deep! at that blest name
The waves sleep silent round the keel,
The tempests wild their fury tame

That made the deep's foundations reel ;
The soft celestial accents steal
So soothing through the realms of woe,
The newly damn'd a respite feel
From torture in the depths below,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the mild and placid seas,

Whom rain-bow rays of mercy crown, Whose name thy faithful Portugueże, O'er all that to the depths go down, With hymns of grateful transport own; When gathering clouds obscure their light, And heaven assumes an awful frown, The star of Ocean glitters bright, Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the deep! when angel lyres
To hymn thy holy name essay,
In vain a mortal harp aspires

To mingle in the mighty lay!
Mother of God! one living ray

Of hope our grateful bosoms fires

When storms and tempests pass away,

To join the bright immortal quires,
Ave Maris Stella!

ODE

TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.-LEYDEN.

SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine,
What vanity hath brought thee here?
How can I love to see thee shine

So bright whom I have bought so dear?
The tent-rope's flapping lone I hear,
For twilight-converse, arm in arm ;

The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear, When mirth and music wont to charm.

By Chericul's dark wandering streams,

Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild,
Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams,
Of Teviot loved while still a child,
Of castled rocks, stupendous pil'd,
By Esk or Eden's classic wave,

Where loves of youth and friendship smil❜d, Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave !

Fade day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! The perished bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy play'd,

Revives no more in after time.

Far from my sacred natal clime,

I haste to an untimely grave;

The daring thoughts, that soar'd sublime, Are sunk in Ocean's southern wave.

Slave of the mine! thy yellow light
Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear-

A gentle vision comes by night,

My lonely widowed heart to cheer: Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine; Her fond heart throbs with many a fear!I cannot bear to see thee shine.

For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,
I left a heart that loved me true!
I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,
To roam in climes unkind and new.
The cold wind of the stranger blew

The following Ballad has been sent to us anonymously. It is commemorative of an event of which we have now no longer any national reason to boast; but it appears to us to possess so much of the character of the broad English ballad style of half a century back,―a description of popular writing which has fallen, perhaps, too much into disuse, that we have been induced to give it insertion.

COME, listen, noble countrymen, your deeds while I rehearse;
For British glory ever finds a subject for my verse.
We've beat the French all round the globe, and now I'll let
What a drubbing we have given the Dons at Monte Video.

The fifth of January, boys, about the break of day,

The Ardent moor'd her convoy safe in Maldonado bay; Achmuty said to Stirling then, We'll tame the haughty foe, And shew them British bravery, at Monte Video,

you

The fifteenth, in the morning, the columns they mov'd on,
And they occupied the suburbs, having scarcely fired a gun;

But then the enemy, indeed, some gallantry did show,-
Full fifteen hundred Spaniards fell for Monte Video.

know,

The twenty-fifth, as soon as light, we march'd up to their wall,
And charged like British grenadiers, men, officers, and all:-
But now comes on the heavy tale, the tale so full of woe,
How many noble English fell for Monte Video.

Our great guns breach'd their wall, my boys, an hour before 'twas day,
But the darkness was so very thick, we could not see the way;
Brave Renny, like a noble Scot, found, mounted, and fell low,-
There was not lost a braver heart for Monte Video.

*

So now I must bring up my song with little else to say,

But that, as Britons always do, we bravely gain'd the day. To those who for their country fell, our tears shall surely flow, But like them we'll die whene'er she calls at Monte Video.

VERSES

ON SEEING THE BEACON ON HUME CASTLE GIVE THE SIGNAL OF

INVASION. February, 1804.-ORIginal.

METEOR of woe, that gleams afar!
Dread harbinger of war unblest!
Thou com'st not like the evening star,
To bid the toil-worn peasant rest.
Thy lonely blaze, that flings on high
Its terrors through the darken'd sky,
Flames on the castle's tow'ry form,
The herald of the fateful storm;

And calls the warrior from his sweet repose,
To meet, with vengeance dire, th' invading foes.

Omen of death!-with artless joy

The child beholds thy fiery wave ;—
Ah! little knows the hapless boy,

Thou light'st his father to the grave.

"The morning was extremely dark, in consequence of which, the head of the column missed the breach; and when it was approached, it was so shut up, that it was mistaken for the untouched wall. In this situation, the troops remained, under a heavy fire, for a quarter of an hour, when, at length, the breach was found by Captain Renny of the 40th light infantry, who pointed it out, and gloriously fell as he mounted it." -GAZETTE EXTRAORDINARY, April 13, 1807.