O grant that race to prove them, then,
Better, as well as braver men;
Wise, to forbear, in civil life,

As bold to dare in hostile strife!
For angel-eyes, that turn afar
Abhorrent from the scenes of war,
Have yet beheld, with tears of joy,
Virtues which war could not destroy,
That, in the hot and tempting hour
Of mad Success and lawless Power,
When Av'rice, Pride, Revenge, contend,
For mastery in the buman-fiend,

Could chain these furies to their den,
And make the victors more than men
Nor solely to the chieftian free
This might of magnanimity :

Round many an humbler head it glowed-
Through many a humbler heart it flowed;
Those who, whate'er their leaders claim,
Must fall, themselves unknown to fame ;
Theirs the toil, without the praise-
The conquest theirs-but not its bays,

Then grant, great Ruler of the main,
These virtues they may long retain !
So shall thy waters ne'er be viewed
Without a burst of gratitude.
So, when War's angry flame retires,
And, ling'ring, on thy bed expires;
These, tried and purified, shall rise,
And, phoenix-like, ascend the skies.

ORIGINAL POETRY

SONG.

SMILES AND TEARS,

✪ SWEET is the glow that the golden hair'd star At evening sheds mildly, all mingled with dews; When, silently gleaming, the moist beams afar Their brilliance and fragrance together diffuse..

But sweeter the smile that bewitchingly plays
Through the tremulous tear in the eye of my love;
While a blush on her cheek all unconsciously strays,
Confusedly strays, finding nought to reprove.

Soft, playful and tender, that tear-mingled smile
Seems sacred as sorrow, and cheerful as day;
Thus breaks forth the sunshine, enshrouded erewhile,
And laughs through the showers that it chases away.

Forgive me, my fair, if too selfish I seem,
And view thy commotion of soul with delight:
I know that thy soul, in its way-wardest dream
Is pure as the snow-flake, still soaring in flight:

And pure is the feeling those blushes declare,
The drops in those eyes nothing guilty inspir'd,
Compassionate grief was indulging him there,
And plea sure o'ertook him before he retir'd.

Full fair are the gems of the silver-browed morn;
The soft glow of twilight full beauteous appears,
But beauties more radiant and melting adorn
The smile of my love through her blushes and tears,

FALKLAND.

THE TULIP AND THE DAISY.

THE gaudy Tulip, that displays

Its wanton bosom to the gaze,

And proudly towers on high ;

Attracts me not-for, from its leaves,
(Though heavenly dyed,) no fragrance breathies,
T' embalm the vernal zephyr's sigh.

While the sweet daisy of the wild,
Meek nature's unassuming child,

I love, beyond the rose-
For every toil refreshing gale,

That sweeps along the dewy vale,

Te this mild flower, its sweetness owės,

55

Proud Atheist, when the skies shall flee away,
Before the trumpet of the final day;

When earth shall burn beneath his angry eye,
And suns, and spheres, shall from their orbits fly;

When from on high the pomp of heaven shall break,

And from beneath, shall ope the penal lake ;

'Mid all the terrours that you then must dare,

"Where is your God?" Proud sceptic fool declare,

OSMYN.

ERRATA.-1st page, 14th line from bottom, for protrasted read prostrated.

Page 25, line 2d from top, for and read et.

THE GIAOUR, A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE.

By Lord Byron.

THIS, we think, is very beautiful-or, at all events, full of spirit, character and originality;-nor can we think that we have any eason to envy the Turkish auditors of the entire tale, while we have its fragments thus served up by a restaurateur of such taste as Lord Byron. Since the increasing levity of the present age, indeed, has rendered it impatient of the long stories that used to delight our ancestors, the taste for fragments, we suspect, has become very general; and the greater part of polite readers would now no more think of sitting down to a whole Epic, than to a whole ox-And truly, when we consider how few long poems there are, out of which we should not wish very long passages to have been omitted, we will confess, that it is a taste which we are rather inclined to patronize-notwithstanding the obscurity it may occasionally produce, and the havoc it must necessarily make, among the proportions, developments, and callide juncture of the critics. The truth is, we suspect, that after we once know what it contains, no long poem is ever read but in fragments; and that the connecting passages, which are

VOL. I.

always skipped after the first reading, are often so tedious as to deter us from thinking of a second ;—and in very many cases so awkwardly and imperfectly brought out, that it is infinitely less laborious to guess at the author's principle of combination, than to follow out his full explanation of it.

In the present instance, however, we do not think that we are driven upon such an alternative; for though we have heard that some persons of slender sagacity, or small poetical experience, have been at a loss to make out the thread of the story, it certainly appears to us to be as free from obscurity as any poetical narrative with which we are acquainted-and is plain and elementary in the highest degree, when compared with the lyric compositions either of the Greeks, or of the Orientals. For the sake of such humble readers, however, as are liable to be perplexed by an ellipsis, we subjoin the following brief outlineby the help of which they will easily be able to connect the detached fragments from which it is faithfully deduced.

Giaour is the Turkish word for infidel; and signifies, upon this occasion, a daring and amorous youth, who, in one of his rambles into Turkey, had been smitten with the charms of the favourite of a rich Emir; and had succeeded not only in winning her affections, but in finding opportunities for the indulgence of their mutual passion. By and by, however, Hassan discovers their secret intercourse; and in a frenzy of jealous rage, sews the beauteous Leila up in a sheet-rows her out, in a calm evening, to a still and deep part of the channel-and plunges her into the dark and shuddering flood. The Giaour speedily comes to the knowledge of this inhuman vengeance; and, mad with grief and resentment, joins himself to a band of plundering Arnauts, and watches the steps of the cruel Hassan, who, after giving out that Leila had eloped from his Serai, proceeds, in a few days, with a gorgeous and armed train, to woo a richer and more noble beauty. The Giaour sets upon him as he is issuing from a rocky defile, and after a sanguinary contest, immolates him to the shade of the murdered Leila. Then, perturbed in spirit, and perpetually haunted by the vision of that lovely victim, he returns to his own country, and takes refuge in a convent of