A deeper rest, a starry trance, has come with midnight there;
No sound, except that throbbing wave, in earth, or sea, or air.
The massive capes and ruined towers seem conscious of the calm;
The fibrous sod and stunted trees are breathing heavy balm.
So still the night, these two long barques, round Dunashad that glide,
Must trust their oars-methinks not few-against the ebbing tide.
Oh! some sweet mission of true love must urge them to the shore-
They bring some lover to his bride, who sighs in Baltimore.
All, all asleep within each roof along that rocky street,
And these must be the lover's friends, with gently gliding feet-—
-A stifled gasp! a dreamy noise! "The roof is in a flame!"
From out their beds, and to their doors, rush maid, and sire, and dame-
And meet, upon the threshold-stone, the gleaming sabres' fall,
And o'er each black and bearded face the white or crimson shawl-
The yell of "Allah" breaks above the prayer, and shriek, and roar-
Oh! fearful fate! the Algerine is lord of Baltimore!

Then flung the youth his naked hand against the shearing sword;
Then sprung the mother on the brand with which her son was gored;
Then sunk the grandsire on the floor, his grand-babes clutching wild;
Then fled the maiden moaning faint, and nestled with the child;-
But see, yon pirate strangled lies, and crushed with splashing heel,
While o'er him in an Irish hand there sweeps his Syrian steel!
Though virtue sink, and courage fail, and misers yield their store,
There's one hearth well avenged in the sack of Baltimore!
Mid-summer morn!-in woodland nigh, the birds begin to sing-
They see not now the milking maids, deserted is the spring!
Mid-summer day!-this gallant rides from distant Bandon's town-
These hookers crossed from stormy Skull, that skiff from Affadown;
They only found the smoking walls, with neighbours' blood besprent
And on the strewed and trampled beach awhile they wildly went-
Then dashed to sea, and passed Cape Clear, and saw, five leagues
before,

The pirate-galleys vanishing that ravaged Baltimore.

"Oh! some must tug the galley's oar, and some must tend the steed-
This boy will bear a Schiek's chibouk, and that a Bey's jerreed.
Oh! some are for the arsenals, by beauteous Dardanelles;
And some are for the caravan to Mecca's sandy dells.
The maid that Bandon gallant sought is chosen for the Dey"-
-She's safe-he's dead-she stabbed him in the midst of his Serai;
And when to die a death of fire that noble maid they bore,
She only smiled-O'Driscol's child-she thought of Baltimore!
'Tis two long years since sunk the town beneath that bloody band,
And all around its trampled hearths a larger concourse stand,
Where high upon the gallows tree, a yelling wretch is seen-
"Tis Hackett of Dungarvan-he who steered the Algerine!
He fell amid a sullen shout, with scarce a passing prayer,
For he had slain the kith and kin of many a hundred there:-
Some muttered of MacMorrogh, who had brought the Norman o'er-
Some cursed him with Iscariot, that day in Baltimore!

LXIII.-ORANGE AND GREEN.

Gerald Grifin.

THENight was falling dreary in merry Bandon town,
When in his cottage weary an Orangeman lay down.
The summer sun in splendour had set upon the vale,
And shouts of "No surrender" arose upon the gale.
Beside the waters, laving the feet of aged trees,
The Orange banners waving, flew boldly in the breeze—
In mighty chorus meeting, a hundred voices join,
And fife and drum were beating the Battle of the Boyne.
Ha! toward his cottage hieing, what form is speeding now,
From yonder thicket flying, with blood upon his brow?

66

Hide-hide me, worthy stranger, though Green my colour be, And in the day of danger may Heaven remember thee!

"In yonder vale contending alone against that crew, My life and limbs defending, an Orangeman I slew.

-Hark! hear that fearful warning! there's death in every toneOh, save my life till morning, and Heaven prolong your own." The Orange heart was melted in pity to the Green; He heard the tale and felt it, his very soul within. "Dread not that angry warning, though death be in its toneI'll save your life till morning, or I will lose my own.' Now, round his lonely dwelling, the angry torrent pressed, A hundred voices swelling the Orangeman addressed"Arise, arise, and follow the chace along the plain! In yonder stony hollow your only son is slain!" With rising shouts they gather upon the track amain, And leave the childless father aghast with sudden pain. He seeks the righted stranger in covert where he lay"Arise!" he said, "all danger is gone and passed away! "I had a son-one only, one loved as my life,

Thy hand has left me lonely, in that accursed strife.

I pledged my word to save thee until the storm should cease,
I keep the pledge I gave thee-arise, and go in peace!"
The stranger soon departed from that unhappy vale;
The father, broken-hearted, lay brooding o'er the tale.
Full twenty summers after to silver turned his beard;
And yet the sound of laughter from him was never heard.

The night was falling dreary in merry Wexford town,
When in his cabin weary, a peasant laid him down.
And many a voice was singing along the summer vale,
And Wexford town was ringing with shouts of "Granua Uile."*
Beside the waters, laving the feet of aged trees,

The green flag, gaily waving, was spread against the breeze—
In mighty chorus meeting, loud voices filled the town,

And fife and drum were beating, "Down, Orangemen, lic down.”
Hark! 'mid the stirring clangour that woke the echoes there,
Loud voices, high in anger, rise on the evening air.
Like billows of the ocean, he sees them hurry on-
And, 'mid the wild commotion, an Orangeman alone.

* Generally written Granu-wail

"My hair," he said, "is hoary, and feeble is my hand,
And I could tell a story would shame your cruel band.
Full twenty years and over have changed my heart and brow,
And I am grown a lover of peace and concord now.

"It was not thus I greeted your brother of the Green
When fainting and defeated I freely took him in.

I pledged my word to save him from vengeance rushing on,
I kept the pledge I gave him, though he had killed my son."
That aged peasant heard him, and knew him as he stood,
Remembrance kindly stirred him, and tender gratitude.
With gushing tears of pleasure, he pierced the listening train,
"I'm here to pay the measure of kindness back again!"
Upon his bosom falling, the old man's tears came down ;
Deep memory recalling that cot and fatal town.

"The hand that would offend thee, my being first shall end;
I'm living to defend thee, my saviour and my friend!"

He said, and slowly turning, addressed the wondering crowá ;
With fervent spirit burning, he told the tale aloud.

Now pressed the warm beholders their aged foe to greet:

They raised him on their shoulders and chaired him through the street. As he had saved that stranger, from peril scowling dim,

So in his day of danger did Heaven remember him.

By joyous crowds attended, the worthy pair were seen,

And their flags that day were blended, of Orange and of Green.

LXIV. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.—Byron.

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,
Or 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 thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes that 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
Sat 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 ! they come." And wild and high the "Cameron's 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 grieves

Over 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!

Last noon, beheld them full of lusty life;

Last eve, in Beauty's circle proudly gay;

The midnight, brought the signal sound of strife,

The morn, the marshalling in arms,-the day,
Battle's magnificently stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it: which when rent,
The earth is covered thick with other clay

Which her own clay shall cover-heaped and pent;
Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent!

LXV. THE LADY OF PROVENCE.
THE war-note of the Saracen

Was on the winds of France;

-Mrs. Hemans.

It had stilled the harp of the troubadour,
And the clash of the tourney's lance.

The sounds of the sea, and the sounds of the night,
And the hollow echoes of charge and flight,
Were around Clotilde, as she knelt to pray

In a chapel where the mighty lay,

On the old Provençal shore:

Many a Chatillon beneath,

Unstirred by the ringing trumpets' breath,
His shroud of armour wore.

But meekly the voice of the Lady rose
Through the trophies of their proud repose;
And her fragile frame, at every blast
That full of the savage war-horn passed,
Trembling, as trembles a bird's quick heart
When it vainly strives from its cage to part,
So knelt she in her woe;

A weeper alone with the tearless dead!
-Oh, they reck not of tears o'er their quiet shed,
Or the dust had stirred below!

Hark! a swift step: she hath caught its tone
Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind's moan,
Is her lord returned with his conquering bands?
-No! a breathless vassal before her stands!
"Hast thou been on the field? art thou come from the host ?"
"From the slaughter, Lady! all, all is lost!
Our banners are taken-our knights laid low-
Our spearmen chased by the Paynim foe-
And thy lord"-his voice took a sadder sound-

Thy lord-he is not on the bloody ground!

There are those who tell that the leader's plume

Was seen on the flight, through the gathering gloom!"
A change o'er her mien and spirit passed:
She ruled the heart which had beat so fast;
She dashed the tears from her kindling eye,
With a glance as of sudden royalty.

"--Dost thou stand by the tombs of the glorious dead,
And fear not to say that their son had fled?

Away!-he is lying by lance and shield:

Point me the path to his battle-field!"

Silently, with lips compressed,

Pale hands clasped above her breast,