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Oh! joyous birds, it hath still been so ;
Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go!
But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep,
And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep,—
Say what have ye found in the peasant's cot,
Since last ye parted from that sweet spot ?

"A change we have found there--and many a change!
Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange!
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
And the young that were have a brow of care,
And the place is hush'd 4 where the children played-
Nought (5) looks the same save the nest we made.”

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
Birds that o'ersweep it, in power and mirth!
Yet, through the wastes of the trackless air,
Ye have a guide and shall we despair ?
Ye over desert and deep have passed, -
So may we reach our bright home at last !

MRS. HEMANS. (4) Hushed-silent, noiseless.—(5) Nought-nothing. Birds of Passage are those birds which migrate, that is, which leave our country at a certain season of the year for a warmer or a colder clime. The Swallow, Cuckoo, Nightingale, Redstart, Blackcap and many other birds leave us ere the winter commences, and guided by the instinct given them by their Creator, seek some other land where nature will smile upon them with her summer beauty ;-on the return of spring, say about April, they will visit old England again, and delight us with their pleasant music.

Again, there are birds which come to us in the winter time, leaving us again on the approach of spring, such as the Fieldfare, Redwing, Snipe, Wild-duck, Widgeon and many others which delight in the cold, frost and snow; and not like the former birds in sunny weather, green foliage, and blue skies.

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse (1) to the ramparts (2) we hurried ;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,
O’er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods (3) with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeams misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Not in sheet, nor in shroud (1) we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial (5) cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
The foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow.

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But little he'll reck, (6) if they let him sleep on,

In the grave where a Briton has laid him (1) Corse-corpse.—(2) Ramparts—the walls which surround fortified places.—(3) Sods—turfs, pieces of earth.-(4) Shrouddress of the dead.-(5) Martial-soldierly.—(6) Reck-care.

But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
And we heard the distant and random (7) gun,
That the foe (8) was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory (9)
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone in his glory.

WOLFE. (7) Random--that by chance, without aim.-(8) Foo-enemy. (9) Gory-bloody.

Sir John Moore, the subject of these universally admired verses, was killed at the battle of Corunna, an engagement between the French and English, when the losses of the latter were very considerable, consisting of 5000 horses, and 5 or 6000 men, besides its magazines, &c. The Historian says that however calamitous this expedition proved, yet it was of advantage to the cause it was intends to support, as it drew Buonaparte from the south, which at that time lay entirely open to his enterprises, and afforded time to the Spaniards to recover in some degree from the terrors of their enemy' The body of the brave Sir John Moore was hastily interred on the ramparts of Corunna, where a monument was afterwards raised to his memory.

THE PATRIOT.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
“This is my own-my native land ?”
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand (1) ?
If such there breathe, go mark him well,
For him-no Minstrel-raptures swell!

(1) Strand-shore.

High tho' his titles, proud his name—
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite (2) those titles, power, and pelf, (3)
The wretch concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, (4)
And doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd and unsung!

WALTER SCOTT.

(2) Despite-in spite of.—(3) Pelf-money,-- possessions.

(4) Renown-fame, repute.

To be fond of the country we are born and live in, is not only natural but right. But in loving our own blessed land, we should never depreciate, or undervalue other countries, for God has given to all parts of the world suitable and distinct gifts.

PRAYER.

“Ere the morning's busy ray

Call you to your work away,
Ere the silent evening close
Your wearied eyes in sweet repose,
To lift your heart and voice in prayer
Be your first and latest care.

And oh! where'er your days be past,
And oh! howe'er your lot be cast,
Still think on Him whose eye surveys,
Whose hand is over all your ways.

CRABBE. At all times, and under all circumstances, we can have access to God by prayer. Prayer is not only a duty, but a privilege, and we should never fail to pray to our Heavenly Father morning and evening. In prosperity or in adversity, the act of praying will purify our thoughts, enlarge our conceptions of the great God, better fit us for our daily labours, and prepare us for that blessed region where the souls of good men dwell.'

We are told that the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much ;" we ought therefore never to forget our dear relatives and friends in our prayers.

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How glorious is thy girdle cast
O’er mountain, tower, and town,
Or mirror'd 1 in the ocean vast-
A thousand fathoms down!
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem,
As when the Eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.
For faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man.

CAMPBELL. (1) Mirror'd-reflected. The cause of this beautiful phenomenon is to be found in the fact that the light of the sun is composed of three colours,-red, yellow and blue. In passing through the drops of rain, these colours are divided, and bent more or less from the usual straight direction of the sun's rays. The Rainbow was appointed by God as the sign of the covenant of mercy, made with Noah, and with all mankind after the flood.-see Genesis, 9 chap. v. 11 to 16.

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