EMIGRATION.

And is the tide of being set,
Unmindful of each fond regret,
To be forgotten, and forget?

To fill the lapse of after-years

With the sad fruit which labour bears, When trials reach but alien ears?

It is not so, the days of youth
Are full of the untested truth,
That moved the heart of loving Ruth;

And told her love could know no space,
No native land, no dwelling-place,
But where it found the largest grace.
And manhood will repeat the same,
Well-tested in his hardened frame,
But lacking not its earlier aim.

And so the land I seek will give
A resting-place, where Love may live,
Tho' sifted in the finest sieve,

And proved by trials such as can
Temper, and raise the soul of man,
And purge it as a winnowing fan.

Such love will speak "Thy passage is
But from one joy to other bliss,
And that new joy as large as this,

And fuller:-here fate is not kind,
Here Nature's lords may lag behind,
But many weaklings seek, and find.

But there the best may claim their right,
New things from old still borrowing light,
Knitting the bonds of union tight."

And Love some name of home will borrow,
And form again all but its sorrow,
Still pressing towards its great to-morrow.

Such counsel take I with my heart,
That I may parry half the smart,
And living act a loving part.

THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT.

Leave thy birth-place, wild and rocky, Leave thy glorious mountain-home! Proudly dash through clift and fissure! Down the steep rock madly come!

Seek the plain then! check thy current!
Steal amid the haunts of men!

Or in babbling murmurs answer
To the stirr'd trees of the glen !

Roll to man thy pure clear waters

From the pureness of thy source! Bring to man thy joyous freshness Swelling ever in thy course,

Till too soon the stately river,

Bid thee join its turbid flow,
And, thy single pathway leaving,
To the great sea onward go.

Yet thy source will still be giving
Vigour to thine after-state,
Fresh, and pure is thy beginning,
And thy latter end is great!
And man learns of thee, to live, that
Mixing duly with his kind,

Still the purer source may give him
Vigour of the untainted mind.

SONG OF THE CRUSADERS.

We will raise the holy banner,

We will battle for the Lord, And the wrongs of Palestina

Shall be venged by the sword,
We will count our triumph nothing-
Victory but loss,

Till yon pale and haughty banner
Shall have bowed to the Cross.

Our pennon is unconquered

By the storm, or the gale,

On the receipt of the Rugbæan of Saturday, by the Penny-post, many of the shades expressed indignation at being obliged to pay double, the paper being over the penny-weight; and the article about Parodies of great and learned men gave several of the literary Spirits still greater umbrage. At last it was agreed to hold a meeting of the savans, to take the matter into their ghostly consideration. Benches and tables having heen borrowed from one of the Spirit shops opposite, one of the assembly was voted into the chair (we believe a Mr. Charon), and after the usual preliminaries, the chairman spoke as follows:

"Gentlemen and Ladies-flattered I cannot help feeling when I see so many assembled around me, to consider a subject which cannot be devoid of interest to any among us. We are met to debate upon the disadvantages under which we at present have been placed, by a paper-(a voice: A Journal). I beg the honourable gentleman's pardon, a journal, bearing for its title, the Rugbæan. (Here (Here some of the less literary interfered, and begged to be informed where Rugby was, but were put down with great indignation by the Ghost of Lawrence Sheriff.) Gentlemen, not only has this paper, or so to speak, journal, handed over to ridicule some of the most celebrated individuals amongst us, (Hear, hear, from Messrs. Herodotus and Homer), but also maligned in general terms that whole race of authors who have devoted themselves to Satire and Parodies. (Cries of Shame). Gentlemen, I am sure that all

of us will rise in arms against that innovation of ideas, that monstrous proposition, that—that— (here the honourable gentleman looked into his hat)-that acme of absurdity which stigmatizes the outburst of a playful moment with the brand of prejudice, malice, and ill will. No, gentlemen ! Such never was, such could never be the case. (Rounds of applause, in the middle of which Aristophanes and Euripides, Keats, the quondam editor of the Quarterly, were to be seen shaking hands).

Gentlemen, I beg leave to introduce to your notice, one whom you will no doubt receive with enthusiasm-need I say that I refer to the father of Poets-Mr. Homer, (cheers) and I conclude by calling upon you again to sacrifice that unhappy journal, upon the altar of a virtuous wrath. (Loud applause.)

Six or seven pseudo-claimants for the

name

of Homer then rose, but the real individual was unanimously maintained in the place which personified the rostrum.

He wore the Grecian dress, in which he appeared cold. He had spectacles upon his

nose.

What he said, was low, and not distinct. We could however, catch the words,—" Trow I," -"deep-toned anger,"-" wine-dark waters," -"winged words," and cloud-collecting skies." He appeared to be alluding to the fact, that he himself had not been free from the sting, however harmless, of parodies, which far from resenting, he had patronized. We must remark that at intervals, when at a loss for words, the worthy gentleman would strike his hand energetically upon the table, or appear to do so, for either from his being an indifferent shot, or from his being "a bloodless one, "that article of furniture returned no sound.

Mr. Homer concluded with moving a memorial to the editors of the aforesaid paper, depreciating such articles.

The motion was seconded by Molière, amidst cries of "No, no," from Racine, La Motte, and Voltaire.

On its being put to the vote, it was however carried by acclamation. Antisthenes, we understand, dissented however, on principle, and Diogenes because Antisthenes did.

The chairman then announced that the

petition would lie for signatures outside, and the meeting separated, with three cheers for Pluto, Proserpine, and the Constitution.

"Grave mother of majestic works."

TENNYSON.

Not yet had Earth awoke from her sleep; above shone the morning star with pale light, yet still the star of expectation, and from the vault of heaven distant orbs glimmered through space. And on earth below, treading the waking world, towards the portals of the morning, walked, strong alone in their united strength, Genius and Liberty, two vast and awful spirits, whom the world knew not in her night-time. What stirs the dull lethargic air? What shakes those gods above, that have long looked down, a worshipped host of heaven, on sleeping man? Liberty has uttered her voice, and midnight murders and robberies flee away. Wherefore Liberty hast thou uttered that cry? The yoke is burst, and freed from Persian bondage comes forth a renovated land pressing towards the morning. And Genius breathes on man, and waking to life arises Greece-free, unfettered Greece, in all the flush of her victory, which tinges the few clouds that float around to proclaim her beauty. Now is she awake, and still through the mellow morn press Genius and Liberty hand in hand; and Athens, glorious with her sunlit temples, and crowned with the home of art, received the strangers; and through the crowded Agora thunders the voice of their child Pericles, beautiful in form, and strong to mould the passions of a patriotic people. O Liberty, thine are the breathing statues of Zeus and Athene! To the rapt audience thou speakest in the sublime tragedies of Æschylus and Sophocles, and over the bason of the smiling Egæan thou sendest forth thy music to the souls of Alcæus, and Sappho ! Wilt thou not ever stay, and love thy children? "Fallen, fallen, fallen," comes a voice from the plains of Charonea, and Genius and Liberty arise and flee; and pass in the eventide to another land.

There, 'midst the many statues and rising palaces of the Eternal city of the seven hills

Long is the sleep of nations; but look, in the east there glimmers a new dawn, and a new morning star will usher in a more glorious day. That morning star is Printing; and soon upon startled Europe strikes the first bright beam of day. Fresh is the wind springing from the rising sun, and again is Liberty living in the breast of man. From the patriot Swiss, and the little flock of Vaudois, it comes forth again to lighten man, and lead him in the ways of Genius. Terrible are the paths of war, but thence cometh Victory; Victory of the children of Liberty, and the sun of the Reformation drinking thirstily in the fresh dew-drops of that early martyrdom, goes forth in strength to its day. Wherefore, ye serfs of Russia-ye fallen children of Poland,-know ye not the paths of Genius? Liberty is not your guest; your heroes are gone; there is no day for you; no spirit rising from your fettered hearts. But from the Eagle, dipt in its own blood, soaring over the sunny south, and from the roar of the Lion of Liberty at Waterloo, Genius comes forth and lives; lives to elevate, and unite all nations in a common bond. Go on, ye wondrous pair, to your new conquests over Time; break the yoke, and dissipate the mist, till ye shall sit on the throne of the whole earth, loving and loved.

It was late in the evening, when three figures were seen to advance along the road from the city,at a furious space. The two outer ones were habited in a military garb, which, as it was but the ordinary dress, needs no description, but the horseman in the centre was enveloped in a long cloak, and his head covered by a cap that reached down so as to cover nearly all the features of the wearer; yet as if even this were not sufficient safeguard to prevent all possibility of recognition, a large handkerchief afforded an additional veil to the features, muffling them so completely that no part of the

face was exposed to the air.

The night was

stormy and heavy rain was falling, peals of thunder broke the silence of the night, and the red flashes of lightning served only to light up for a transient moment, the dark cypress trees and monuments that lined either side of the road; it was not to be supposed that on such a night many would be found to brave the inclemency of the weather, and accordingly our travellers met with no opposition on their way; yet,as the shouts from the city were borne more plainly, during a lull of the storm, through the air, or if a distant torch from the camp of the soldiery were seen in any quarter, the centre figure seemed to be seized with an unaccountable dread, urging his companions to their utmost speed. On the road might be heard, now and then, one asking of his companion whether the pursuit had been as yet successful, nor did the answer in the negative seem at all to rouse the courage of the horsemen, but fearfully, and as it seemed, almost despondingly, they passed onward, not knowing whether they were not pressing forward to that very danger which to escape seemed difficult if not impossible. Once, and once only, did their flight (for such in truth their journey was) seem about to be brought to an abrupt conclusion, for at a sudden turn of the road, a man advancing caused the horse of the muffled figure to start, as the lightning gleamed upon his armour, and rear upwards, though not so as to throw his master, yet sufficiently to displace the wrapper from his face and display his features to the astonished passer-bye, an accident hardly less terrible than death itself; here however, fortune stepped in to aid, for whether owing to some private benefit that he had received, or from feelings of compassion, or be it what it may that influenced him, the man gave no alarm as the party had feared, but saluting them passed on his way. The disguise was immediately resumed, and as there was now more reason than ever for hurrying onwards, it was no long time before the party arrived at a point where the road diverged. Quitting their horses they pushed forward on foot till they arrived at a thicket, into which they plunged, one of the party leading the way who seemed well acquainted with the spot, for notwithstanding the darkness that shrouded everything, he led them

forward, if not rapidly, at least unhesitatingly till they emerged at the opposite side of the wood, here their further progress was barred by a lofty wall, and as they had with them no means of scaling it, they were forced to wait with patience, though in momentary dread of being taken, till a party of servants from within had broken an aperture of sufficient size for their admission; through this they passed, and entered the grounds of a magnificent villa, not for them, however, where the luxuries and splendour that filled its gorgeous halls, though wearied with their journey, and feeling sharply the pangs of hunger, probably the first time they had ever known such a sensation; the desire for a secure hiding-place engrossed all other thoughts, and rendered all evils light in comparison with those that were to be dreaded. The dark man seemed the most agitated of the party, and at the same time the most irresolute: now, as if in a fit of absence, he would sit down on the wet ground, and pluck from his cloak the thorns and briars that had adhered to it in his passage through the wood: now he would scoop up some muddy water, and holding it in the palm of his hand, exclaim, "Behold my choicest liqueur." It was settled at length that for the present he should conceal himself in a small hut that was but little likely to attract the notice of his pursuers, or at least would give colour to the idea that he was but some servant attached to the place. There, on a wretched bed, he flung himself down, refusing to eat the coarse food that they offered him, and contenting himself with only a cup of water. were now brought to the owner of the villa, ordering his arrest, wherever he might be found: his chance of escape appeared so small, that some of those who stood by advised him to save himself by death, from a more dreadful fate. By turns he prepared to die, and resolved to live: at one moment draw forth a dagger, and then return it to its sheath: he even in his ravings ordered one to slay himself that he might learn how to die, and bid them raise the death-wail, as if he were already passed away: then he would sharply reprove himself, and say, Death is not fearful: die! but fear not. Thus uncertain, and now resolved-now again unnerved-he continued

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