"Behold on yonder verdant mead,

"A lamb its harmless gambols play; "The victim soon for me shall bleed, "When, boldly pouncing on my prey, "I to my eyrie wing my way,

"From man and all his arts secure ;

"I mock his aims; deride his sway:

Beyond his utmost stretch of power."

Whilst thus the empty boaster spoke,

A fire-flash from a neighbouring peak Was seen; the deafening thunder broke So loudly, that no tongue may speak Its awful roll;-with quivering beak

And strengthless talons tumbling fell

The sky's dread "sovereign." Dost thou seek

To know the cause? My verse shall tell.

The lordly bird had long time reign'd
The Herod of the neighbouring plains;
Had oft his murderous talons stain'd

With victims from the watchful swains'
Defenceless flocks; despite the pains

They took, still would the robber soar ;
And once (as still the tale remains)
A screaming infant upward bore.

At length, to rid them from their foe,
One of the "reptile race" essayed
To strike the sure, revengeful, blow;
And, climbing by the friendley aid
Of shelving rocks, his station made
Near to the birds aërial seat;

Th' unfailing tube a ball conveyed,

And made the work of death complete.

Mortal! let the lesson teach

Thee not to make too much thy boast Thy wealth, or power, or strength, or speech; These are but broken reeds at most:

And ruddy health! how soon 'tis lost, When launches Death's unerring dart;

Man, feeble man, gives up the ghost, And only lives in Friendship's heart. Bridlington.

T.

ENQUIRY.

Father Atlas of old tried his sinews to crack

But the story, methinks, is no good one;

For, if he had all the round world on his back,

Pray, where is the ground that he stood on ? Bridlington.

T.

ISRAELĪTES PASSING THE RED SEA.

A FLAGMENT.

For many a coal-black tribe and cany spear,
The hireling guards of Mizraim's throne, were there;
On either wing, their fery coursers check

The parched and sinewy sons of Amalek;

While close behind, inured to feast on blood,

Deck'd in behemoth's spoils, the tall Shangalla strode.
Mid blazing heims, and bucklers rough with gold,
Saw ye
how swift the sithed chariots roll'd?

Lo! these are they whom, lords of Afric's fates,

Old Thebes has pour'd through all her hundred

gates

Mother of armies !-How the emerald glow'd,

Where, flush'd with power and vengeance, Pharaoh

rode;

And, stoled in white, those blazing wheels before Osiris' ark, his swarthy wizards bore:

And, still responsive to the trumpet's cry,

The priestly sistrum murmur'd, "Victory!"

Why swell these shouts that rend the desert's gloom?

Whom come ye forth to combat? warrior, whom?
These flocks and herds, this faint and weary train,
Red from the scourge, and weary from the chain?
Friend of the poor! the poor and friendless save-
Giver and Lord of freedom, help the slave.
North, south, and west, the sandy whirlwinds fly,
The circling pale of Egypt's chivalry.

On earth's last margin throng the weeping train, Their cloudy guide moves on-and must we swim the main ?

R