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They placed him next
Amidst their nobles all.
On that polluted floor,
Where good men sate before.
To read the murderous doom;
In the middle of the room.
And by the name I bear,
That waves above us there-
And oh, that such should be !--
A wreath of such renown,
To win the martyr's crown! "There is a chamber far away
Where sleep the good and brave,
grave. For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might,
This hand hath always striven, And ye raise it up for a witness still
In the eye of earth and heaven.
Give every town a limb-
I go from you to Him!'
The rain came flashing down,
Lit up the gloomy town :
The thunder crashed across the heaven,
The fatal hour was come;
The 'larum of the drum.
And anger in the sky,
Came forth to see him die.
How dismal 'tis to see
The ladder and the tree !
The bells begin to toll-
God's mercy on his soul!
The clouds are cleared away,
Amidst the dazzling day.
Like a bridegroom from his room,
To the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead,
There was lustre in his eye; And he never walked to battle
More proudly than to die : There was colour in his visage,
Though the cheeks of all were wan, And they marvelled as they saw him pass,
That great and goodly man! He mounted up the scaffold,
And he turned him to the crowd ; But they dared not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud. But he looked upon the heavens,
And they were clear and blue, And in the liquid ether
The eye of God shone through :
Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,
All else was calm and still.
The grim Geneva ministers
With anxious scowl drew near,
Around the dying deer.
But alone he bent the knee ;
Beneath the gallows-tree.
And cast his cloak away :
Of earth, and sun, and day.
Like a glory round the shriven,
As it were the path to heaven.
And a stunning thunder-roll ;
For fear was on every soul.
A hush and then a groan;
The work of death was done!
AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN..-W. Allston.
All hail! thou noble land,
Our father's native soil!
Gigantic grown by toil,
For thou, with magic might,
The world o er.
The genius of our clime,
From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the great sublime;
While tŘe Tritons of the deep
Then let the world combine-
Bright in fame!
Since our fathers left their home,
O'er untravelled seas to roam, -
And shall we not proclaim
By its chains ?
Which the bard of Avon sung,
How the vault of heaven rung,
While this, with reverence meet,
Round our coast ;
That mould a nation's soul,
Between let ocean roll,
Yet, still, from either beach,
"We are one !'
OH! it is excellent
MOSES.-7. H. Newman.
The meekest man on earth,
Can give our souls new birth.
Lost Canaan by self-will,
How sin defiles us still.
Thou, who hast taught me in Thy fear,
Yet seest me frail at best,
To gain his future rest!
ALMA.–Archbishop Trench. THOUGH till now ungraced in story, scant although thy
waters be, Alma, roll these waters proudly, proudly roll them to
the sea. Yesterday unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering
Tartar known, Now thou art a voice for ever to the world's four corners
blown. In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a deathless
name, And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame. Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower,
and shrine, Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like
thine ; Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a
living head, Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of
the dead. Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly
mourning, say, When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept