This flame which burnt for Italy, And only fed its upward leap, Its burning showed us Italy, And all the hopes she had to keep. This light is out in Italy, Her eyes shall seek for it in vain! For her sweet sake it spent itself, Too early flickering to its waneToo long blown over by her pain. Bow down and weep, O Italy, Thou canst not kindle it again! LAURA C. REDDEN (Howard Glyndon). MARIA THERESA'S APPEAL TO HUNGARY. M ARIA Theresa was twenty-four years old, when she succeeded her father on the thrones of Austria, Hungary, and Bohemia. Notwithstanding the guarantee given her father by the European powers, she soon found herself opposed by nearly all of them, who sought to wrest her dominions from her and divide them among themselves. The battle of Molwitz made the situation of Maria Theresa almost desperate, and a little later an alliance was formed against her by France, Prussia, Bavaria, Spain and Saxony. A French army entered Germany and united with the Bavarian forces, while the Saxon army advanced into Bohemia. The Bavarians marched into upper Austria and occupied Linz, where the elector was proclaimed Archduke of Austria. He might have taken Vienna had he moved promptly against the city, but becoming jealous of the successes of the Saxons in Bohemia, he undertook the conquest of that country. He entered Prague and was proclaimed King of Bohemia. In January, 1742, he was chosen emperor by the electors at Frankfort, and took the title of Charles VII. In the meantime Maria Theresa had exerted herself to repair her disasters. She fled to her kingdom of Hungary for protection, and hastening to the assembled diet, with her infant son, afterwards Joseph II., in her arms, presented herself before the nobles and deputies, and appealed to them to maintain her cause. The chivalric Hungarians were deeply moved by her trust in them, and the hall rang with the cry: "Let us die for our King, Maria Theresa!" An army of 100,000 men was raised, and was joined by a strong force of Tyrolese. This force at once took the field. One division not only reconquered upper Austria, but invaded Bavaria, and captured Munich on the very day that Charles VII. was crowned emperor. A little later an Austrian army, under Prince Charles of Lorraine, was defeated by Frederick at Czaslau. This disaster induced the Queen to rid herself of her most dangerous enemy by surrendering upper Silesia and a part of lower Silesia to him. Frederick was satisfied for the time, and peace was made between Austria and Prussia, DANIEL BOONE. F all men, saving Sylla the man-slayer, Was happiest amongst mortals anywhere; Crime came not near him, she is not the child Where if men seek her not, and death be more Without which glory's but a tavern song- Is that you neither can be pleased nor please; And the creatures of thy brain In our memory remain, Till through them we seem to be And thy voice would grateful hear, By the flogging wreaked on Squeers, Mantalini's predilections By the mournful group that played Round the grave where Smike was laid, By the life of Tiny Tim, And the lesson taught by him, Asking in his plaintive tone By the sounding waves that bore Welcome fills the throbbing breast Of the sympathetic West. W. H. VENABLE, TO VICTOR HUGO. ICTOR in poesy! Victor in romance! Child-lover, bard, whose fame-lit laurels glance, Beyond our strait their claim to be thy peers! Yield thee full thanks for thy full courtesy MARIA DE MEDICIS RECEIVING THE RF.GENCY. ARIA de Medicis, queen of France, was the daughter of Francis II., grand duke of Tuscany, and of Joan, archduchess of Austria. She was born at Florence in 1573. In 1630 she was married to Henry IV. Her son who became Louis XIII, was born the following year; his deplorable weakness as he grew up was the principal cause of his mother's misfortunes. The amours of her husband rendered her life a wretched one, and, being of a violent temper, the peace of the royal household was frequently disturbed. Her anxieties as a wife, and the absolute temper of Henry, prevented her from taking any part in state affairs during his lifetime; and when towards 1610, he contemplated taking the field against the house of Austria, and proposed making her regent in his absence, she manifested the greatest repugnance to the subject, always saying that it foreboded some great misfortune. Finally it was arranged that she should be entrusted with the regency by her royal husband, and should be formally crowned, a ceremony which Henry, on one pretext or another, had always deferred. This being done, Henry was stabbed by Ravaillac the day following, when preparing for the Queen's entry into Paris. Thus fell Henry of Navarre, a man of great qualities, and the most popular monarch France has ever known. Noiselessly as the spring-time Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leavesSo, without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain crown Perchance the bald old eagle, Looked on the wondrous sight. Still shuns the hallowed spot; For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. Lo! when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war, With arms reversed, and muffled drum, Follow the funeral car. They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, Amid the noblest of the land Men lay the sage to rest, This was the bravest warrior That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word; On the deathless page, truths half so sage And had he not high honor? The hill-side for his pall; To lie in state while angels wait, With stars for tapers tall; And the dark rock pines, like tossing plume Over his bier to wave; And God's own hand, in that lonely land, To lay him in the grave— In that deep grave, without a name, Shall break again-Oh wondrous thought!~ And stand, with glory wrapped around, And speak of the strife that won our lite, O lonely tomb in Moab's land! Speak to these curious hearts of ours, God hath his mysteries of grace— Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the secret sleep Of him he loved so well. CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER, TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD. AKE back into thy bosom, earth, This joyous, May-eyed morrow, 'Tis hard-while rays half green, half gold, F To say we're thankful that his sleep In whose sweet-tongued companionship But all the more intensely true His soul gave out each feature Of elemental love-each hue And grace of golden natureThe deeper still beneath it all Lurked the keen jags of anguish ; Of his own mournful singing, Did fount bring freshness deeper Where charnels choke the city, BARTHOLOMEW SIMMONS. THE LAND OF THE WEST. O! brothers-come hither and list to my story Merry and brief will the narrative be: Here, like a monarch, I reign in my gloryMaster am 1, boys, of all that I see. Where once frowned a forest a garden is smiling- Oho, boys!—oho, boys!—oho! Talk not of the town, boys-give me the broad prairie, Where man, like the wind, roams impulsive and free; Behold how its beautiful colors all vary, Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea. With proud independence we season our cheer, Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger, We spread hospitality's board for the stranger, And die, boys, in peace and good will to mankind. GEORGE P. MORRIS MONODY ON SAMUEL PATCH. Samuel Patch was a boatman on the Erie Canal, in New York. He made himself notorious by leaping from the masts of ships, from the Falls of Niagara, and from the Falls in the Genesee River, at Rochester. He did this, as he said, to show "that some things can be done as well as others;" and hence this, now, proverbial phrase. His last feat was when, in the presence of many thousands, he jumped from above the highest rock over which the water falls in the Genesee, and was lost. OLL for Sam Patch! Sam Patch, who jumps no more, This or the world to come. Sam Patch is dead! The vulgar pathway to the unknown shore Of dark futurity, he would not tread. No friends stood sorrowing round his dying bed; Nor with decorous woe, sedately stepped Behind his corpse, and tears by retail shed ;- The mighty river, as it onward swept, In one great wholesale sob, his body drowned and kept. Toll for Sam Patch! he scorned the common way That some great men had risen to falls, he went And jumped where wild Passaic's waves had rent The antique rocks; -the air free passage gave— And graciously the liquid element Upbore him, like some sea-god on its wave; Fame, the clear spirit that doth to heaven upraise, Pleasant, as are to women lighted halls Has thousands—better taught, alike absurd, That it was now his winding-sheet and grave, Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, Nor sung, 'twixt tears and smiles, our requiem for the And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; brave. I say, the muse shall quite forget to sound She do not strike it when Sam Patch is drowned. Because the wax did not continue stiff; And Helle's case was all an accident, As everybody knows. Why sing of these? Nor would I rank with Sam that man who went Down into Ætna's womb-Empedocles I think he called himself. Themselves to please, Or else unwillingly, they made their springs; For glory in the abstract, Sam made his, To prove to all men, commons, lords, and kings, That "some things may be done as well as other things." But, ere he leaped, he begged of those who made When all the streams have worn their barriers low, Therefore it is considered, that Sam Patch Shall never be forgot in prose or rhyme; His name shall be a portion in the batch Of the heroic dough, which baking time Kneads for consuming ages-and the chime Of fame's old bells, long as they truly ring, Shall tell of him: he dived for the sublime, And found it. Thou, who with the eagle's wing, Being a goose-wouldst fly-dream not of such a thing! ROBERT C. SANDS. Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, And the purple of ocean is deepest in die ; 'T is the clime of the East; 't is the land of the SunCan he smile on such deeds as his children have done? , wild as the accents of lover's farewell Are the hearts which they bear and the tales which they tell! LORD BYRON. LIBERTY TO ATHENS. HE flag of freedom floats once more It waves, as waved the palm of yore As bright a glory, from the skies, As in their country's noblest hours; While man shall live, and time shall be. The pride of all her shrines went down ; Her helm by many a sword was cleft: Where grew the palm, the cypress rose, And sounds redemption to the Greeks. JERUSALEM BEFORE THE SIEGE OF TITUS. 'ITUS.—It must be And yet it moves me, Romans! It confounds That ruin's merciless ploughshare must pas And barren salt be sown on yon proud city. Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever Distils from stone to stone with gentle motion, shine; As through a valley sacred to sweet peacc, Where the light wings of zephyr, oppressed with per- How boldly doth it front us! how majestically! fume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her bloom? Like a luxurious vineyard, the hill-side |