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Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning;

Oh, thus remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,

Once so loved by thee;
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them ;

Oh, then remember me.
When, around thee dying
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh, then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,

Oh, still remember me.
Then, should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee,-

Oh, then remember me.

INSTABILITY OF AFFECTION. ALAS! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied ; That stood the storm, when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, When heaven was all tranquillity ! A something light as air-a look,

A word unkind or wrongly taken

O love that tempests never shook,

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin ;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone ;
And hearts so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds—or like the stream,
That smiling left the mountain's brow,

As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet, ere it reach the plain below,
Breaks into floods that part for ever.

Lalla Rookh.

LORD BYRON.

(1788-1824.) Born in Holles Street, London, and received his early education at various schools in Aberdeen, whither his mother had retired on separating from her husband, Captain Byron. When ten years old he succeeded to his uncle's title and estates, and Mrs. Byron and the young peer immediately removed to the family seat, Newstead Abbey, Nottinghamshire. Byron's education was further carried on at Harrow and Trinity College, Cambridge. Two years were spent in foreign travel, and on his

return he took his seat as a peer in the House of Lords. In 1815 married Miss Millbanke, but the union proved an unhappy one, and in twelvemonths it was dissolved. In 1816 Byron left England, and never returned to it. He led a restless and wandering life for several years, and, in 1823, threw himself with much enthusiasm into the Greek war of independence against the Turks. He helped the Greeks with his money and advice ; and was looking forward with much eagerness to an attack on Lepanto when he was seized by fever, of which he died at Missolonghi, in 1824. The poet's body was brought to England, and interred at Hucknall, near Newstead.

Byron's chief works are :-Hours of Idleness; The Giaour; The Bride of Abydos ; English Bards and Scotch Reviewers ; The Prisoner of Chillon ; Hebrew Melodies ; Childe Harold's Pil. grimage ; Don Juan, etc.

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THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. 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, That host with their banners at sunset were seen : Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew

still ! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride : And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.

Hebrew Melodies,

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
STOP !—for thy tread is on an empire's dust !
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
Is the spot marked with no colossal bust,
Nor column trophied for triumphal show ?

None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so:
As the ground was before, thus let it be.
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow!

And is this all the world has gained by thee,
Thou first and last of fields, king-making Victory ?

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;
A thousands hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage-bell ;-
But hush ! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising

knell ! Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ! No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. But hark !—that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat ;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Arm ! arm ! it is !—it is !-the cannon's opening roar !

Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deemed it near,-,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated : who could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ?

And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed,
The mustering squadron and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;

While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering with white lips—"The foe! They come!"

And wild and high the “Camerons' gathering” rose !
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard-and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring, which instils

The stirring memory of a thousand years ;
And Evan's, Donald's fame, rings in each clansman's

ears ! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving-if aught inanimate e'er grievesOver the unreturning brave—alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure ; when this fiery mass

Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and

low !

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