WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, FROM "AN EVENING REVERIE." Oh thou great Movement of the Universe, Or Change, or Flight of Time-for ye are one!- Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me? He knows, when they shall darken or grow bright: Or do the portals of another life Even now, while I am glorying in my strength, TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. Thou blossom bright with autumu dew, And covered with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night, Thou comest not when violets lean Thou waitest late and com'st alone, Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to Heaven as I depart. SONG. Dost thou idly ask to hear Press the tenderest reasons? Ah, they give their faith too oft To the careless wooer; Maidens' hearts are always soft Would that men's were truer ! Woo the fair one, when around Early herbs are springing: Shine with beauty, breathe of love,Woo the timid maiden. Woo her when, with rosy blush, 467 WILLIAM SIDNEY WALKER.—JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN. THE VOICE OF OTHER YEARS. O Stella! golden star of youth and love! The lofty-minded and the gentle-hearted; The beauty of the earth-the light of days departed All, all return; and with them comes a throng Of withered hopes, and loves made desolate, And high resolves cherished in silence long, Yea, struggling still beneath the incumbent weight Of spirit-quelling Time and adverse fate. These only live; all else have passed away To Memory's spectre-land; and she, who sate 'Mid that bright choir so bright, is now as theyA morning dream of life, dissolving with the day. TO A GIRL IN HER THIRTEENTH YEAR. Thy balmy breath upon my brow Is like the summer air, As o'er my cheek thou leanest now, Thy steps are dancing toward the bound And thoughts and feelings more profound, And youth shall pass, with all the brood Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep Nay, say not so! nor cloud the sun Of joyous expectation, Ordained to bless the little one, The freshling of creation! Nor doubt that He who thus doth feed Smile on, then, little winsome thing, Jeremiah Joseph Callanan. 469 Callanan (1795-1829) was born in Cork, Ireland, and educated for the priesthood at Maynooth. But he gave up his clerical prospects, and in 1825 was an assistant in the school of Dr. Maginn, by whose introduction he became a contributor to Blackwood's Magazine. In 1829 he was tutor in the family of an Irish gentleman in Lisbon, and died there in the thirty-fourth year of his age, as he was about leaving for Ireland. A small 12mo volume of his Poems was published at Cork soon after his death. A new edition appeared in 1847; and in 1848 was issued a third edition, edited by D. F. McCarthy, with an interesting Memoir. THE VIRGIN MARY'S BANK. FOUNDED ON AN EXISTING POPULAR TRADITION IN THE COUNTY OF CORK. The evening-star rose beauteous above the fading day, As to the lone and silent beach the Virgin came to pray; And hill and wave shone brightly in the moonlight's mellow fall, But the bank of green where Mary knelt was brightest of them all. Slow moving o'er the waters a gallant bark appeared, And her joyous crew looked from the deck as to the land she neared; To the calm and sheltered haven she floated like a swan, And her wings of snow o'er the waves below in pride and beauty shone. The master saw "Our Lady" as he stood upon the prow, And marked the whiteness of her robe, the radiance of her brow; Her arms were folded gracefully upon her stainless breast, And her eyes looked up among the stars to Him her soul loved best. He showed her to his sailors, and he hailed her with a cheer; And on the kneeling Virgin then they gazed with laugh and jeer, And madly swore a form so fair they never saw before, And they cursed the faint and lagging breeze that kept them from the shore. The ocean from its bosom shook off the moonlight And up its wrathful billows rose to vindicate their And a cloud came o'er the heavens, and a darkness Thomas Noon Talfourd. Talfourd (1795-1854) was a native of Doxey, a suburb of Stafford, England. His father was a brewer in Reading. Having studied the law, Thomas was called to the Bar in 1821, and in 1833 got his silk gown. As Sergeant Talfourd, he was conspicuous for his popular eloquence and liberal principles. He was returned to Parliament for the borough of Reading. In 1835 he published his tragedy of "Ion," which was the next year produced at Covent Garden Theatre with success. It is the highest literary effort of its author; and Miss Ellen Tree, who played the part of the hero in the United States, helped to make it famous. Talfourd also produced "The Athenian Captive," a tragedy; "The Massacre of Glencoe;" and "The Castilian," a tragedy. He also wrote a "Life of Charles Lamb," and an "Essay on the Greek Drama." In 1849 he was elevated to the Bench; and in 1854 he died of apoplexy, while delivering his charge to the grandjury at Stafford. TO THE SOUTH AMERICAN PATRIOTS. Rejoice, ye heroes! Freedom's old ally, And the scoffing crew beheld no more that Lady Unchanging Nature, who hath seen the powers on the strand. Of thousand tyrannies decline like flowers, Out burst the pealing thunder, and the lightning The breeze hath swept again the stormy sky leaped about; And, rushing with its watery war, the tempest gave a shout; And that vessel from a mountain-wave came down with thundering shock, And her timbers flew like scattered spray on Inchidony's rock. Then loud from all that guilty crew one shriek rose wild and high; But the angry surge swept over them, and hushed their gurgling cry; And with a hoarse exulting tone the tempest passed away, And down, still chafing from their strife, the indignant waters lay. When the calm and purple morning shone out on high Dunmore, Full many a mangled corpse was seen on Inchidony's shore; And to this day the fisherman shows where the scoffers sank, That wooed Athenian waves with tenderest kiss, LOVE IMMORTAL. Clemanthe. And shall we never see each other? I have asked that dreadful question of the hills, I feel the love that kindles through its beauty And still he calls that hillock green the Virgin | Can never wholly perish: we shall meet |