Of three bright colours1o, each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign;

For Freedom's hand had blended them,
Like tints in an immortal gem.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;
One, the pure Spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light:
The three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And darkness must again prevail !
But, oh thou Rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away.
Our life is but a load of clay.

And Freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
And soon, oh Goddess! may we be
For evermore with them or thee!

NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.

FROM THE FRENCH.

FAREWELL to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory

Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her nameShe abandons me now-but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame.

I have warr'd with a world which vanquis'd me

only

When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,

The last single Captive to millions in war.

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd

me,

I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,— But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found

thee,

Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.

Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted

In strife with the storm, when their battles were

won

Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,

Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun!

Farewell to thee, France !—but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me thenThe violet still grows in the depth of thy vallies; Though wither'd, thy tear will unfold it again— Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voiceThere are links which must break in the chain that

has bound us,

Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

OCCASIONAL PIECES.

OCCASIONAL PIECES.

ON REVISITING HARROW.

HERE once engaged the stranger's view
Young Friendship's record simply traced;
Few were her words,-but yet, though few,
Resentment's hand the line defaced.

Deeply she cut-but not erased,

The characters were still so plain,

That Friendship once return'd and gazed,—
Till Memory hail'd the words again.

Repentance placed them as before;
Forgiveness join'd her gentle name;
So fair the inscription seem'd once more
That Friendship thought it still the same.

Thus might the Record now have been;
But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour,
Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between,
And blotted out the line for ever!