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“In nameless beauty all unmasked, in solitude they

smile, As if they bloomed but for the stars, or birds of that

lone isle: For never yet hath mortal foot touched that enchanted

shore, Long hallowed by the wildly imagined tales of yore. “Full well I love those distant flowers, whose pure and

tender blue Seems fitting emblem of a faith, unchanging as their And wouldst thou venture for my love as thou wouldst

for renown, To win for me those azure flowers, to deck my bridal

crown ?"


One parting kiss of his fair bride, and swiftly far

away, Like the wild swan whose home he sought, young

Albert met the spray Of rising waves, which foamed in wrath, as if some

spirit's hand Awoke the genii of the lake to guard their mystic


The flowers were won, but devious his course lay back

again; To stem the waters in their tow'ring rage he strove in

vain : Fondly he glanced to the yet distant shore, where in

despair His Ida stood with outstretched arms, 'mid shrieks and

tears and pray’r. Darker and fiercer gathered on the tempest in its

wrath, The eddying waves with vengeful ire beset the fatal

path :

With the wild energy of death he well-nigh reached

the spot, The azure flowers fell at her feet—"Ida, FORGET-ME

NOT !" The words yet borne upon his lips, the prize seem'd

almost won, When 'mid the rush of angry waves he sank--for ever

gone !

Within a proud cathedral aisle was raised a costly

tomb, Whose pure white marble like ethereal light amid the

gloom Shone-and no other trace it bore of lineage or of

lot But Ida's name, with star-like flowers ensculp'd FORGET


There Ida slept, the desolate, the last of all her name, Parted from him who perished for her love 'mid dawn

of fame; But when shall their fond legend die? or when shall be

forgot The flower that won its name in death, Love's theme



John BYROM. (John Byrom was a contributor to the Spectator, and the author of several poems, of which the best are those on “Enthusiasm," and the "Immortality of the Soul." He was, however, rather a prolific versifier than a poet. He was the son of a linendraper at Kersall, near Manchester, where he was born in 1691. He was educated at the Merchant Tailors' School, London, and Trinity College, Cambridge, where he took his degree of M.A., 1741. Though usually called Dr. Byrom, he practised as a physician without taking any degree in medicine. Having married a cousin in opposition to the will of her parents, his family abandoned them, and he was for some time in straitened circum. stances; but during his stay at Cambridge he had invented a system of short-hand, which he began to teach at Manchester. In 1723 he was admitted into the Royal Society as a Fellow. About this time his elder brother died without issue, and Byrom was at once placed in ease and affluence. He died September 28th, 1762, in the seventy-second year of his age.] Two honest tradesmen, meeting in the Strand, One took the other briskly by the hand. “Hark ye,” said he, "'tis an odd story this About the crows !" "I don't know what it is," Replied his friend. “No! I'm surprised at that,-Where I come from it is the common chat; But you shall hear an odd affair indeed ! And that it happened they are all agreed : Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman who lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the Alley knows, Taking a vomit, threw up three black crows!" “ Impossible !” “Nay, but 'tis really true; I had it from good hands, and so may you." “From whose, I pray ?” So, having named the man, Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. “Sir, did you tell ?” relating the affair. “ Yes, sir, I did; and, if 'tis worth your care, 'Twas Mr.—such an one-who told it me; But by the bye, 'twas two black crows, not three !" Resolved to trace so wond'rous an event, Quick to the third the virtuoso went. “ Sir," and so forth. “Why, yes; the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact : It was not two black crows, 'twas only one ; The truth of that you may depend upon; The gentleman himself told me the case." " Where may I find him ?” “Why, in"-such a place. Away he went, and having found him out, “ Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.” Then to his last informant he referred, And begged to know if true what he had heard. “Did you, sir, throw up a black crow ?” “Not I!" “Bless me, how people propagate ą lịe !

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one ;
And here, I find, all comes at last to none !
Did you say nothing of a crow at all ?”
“ Crow-crow-perhaps I might; now I recall
The matter over." “And pray, sir, what was't ?”
" Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last
I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was—as black, sir, as a crow."


JAMES MONTGOMERY. [James Montgomery was born at Irvine, in Ayrshire, November 4th, 1771. At twelve years of age he found himself writing verses, and at twenty he became a newspaper editor, beginning his professional career at a time when it was dangerous for a man to print his thoughts if his sentiments were opposed to the powers that were. Montgomery found himself at three and-twenty a prisoner in York Castle, for printing in his journal a song, not his own, celebrating the fall of the Bastile. The punishment had no effect on him in the sense that was intended; he wrote while in gaol a series of poems, which he called “Prison Amusements.” They were published in 1797. In 1806 he produced “The Ocean," a long poem, which had but a moderate success; but it was followed by . The West Indies," which, though brought out in a most expensive form, reached in a short time a sale of ten thousand copies. Montgomery's verses are too calm, gentle, and tender for the youth of the present day; they are soothing rather than invigorating, but they will keep, like good wine; and the older we grow the better we shall like them: but they are not fiery enough for those who indulge in literary dram-drinking. Who has not felt the exquisite pathos of his lines, “ Friend after friend departs,' and “A Mother's Love?” Mr. Montgomery's chief poems, besides those we have named, are “ The Wanderer in Switzerland” (1806), “The World before the Flood” (1812), Greenland” (1819), “ The Pelican Island(1828). An entire collection of his verses appeared in 1850. His later contributions to literature were numerous and very beautiful “ Original Hymns." He was a religious man ; but his religion was of no gloomy nor sectarian character. In 1846 the late Sir Robert

Peel bestowed on him a well-deserved pension of £150 a year. He lived in retirement at the Mount, near Sheffield, where he died, 1854.]

Once more to Greenland's long-forsaken beach,
Which foot of man again shall never reach,
Imagination wings her flight, explores
The march of Pestilence along the shores,
And sees how Famine in his steps hath paced,
While winter laid the soil for ever waste.
Dwellings are heaps of fallen or falling stones,
The charnel-houses of unburied bones,
On which obscene and prowling monsters fed,
But, with the rapine in their jaws, fell dead.
Thus while Destruction, blasting youth and age,
Raged till it wanted victims for its rage,-
Love, the last feeling that from life retires,
Blew the faint sparks of his unfuell'd fires.
In the cold sunshine of yon narrow dell
Affection lingers ;—there two lovers dwell,
Greenland's whole family: nor long forlorn ;
There comes a visitant,-a babe is born.
O'er his meek helplessness the parents smiled;
'Twas hope ;-—for hope is every mother's child :
Then seemed they in that world of solitude
The Eve and Adam of a race renewed.
Brief happiness! too perilous to last;
The moon hath wax'd and waned, and all is past :
Behold the end :-One morn, athwart the wall,
They mark'd the shadow of a reindeer fall,
Bounding in tameless freedom o'er the snow;
The father track'd him, and with fatal bow
Smote down the victim ; but before his eyes,
A rabid she-bear pounced upon the prize ;
A shaft into the spoiler's flank he sent,
She turned in wrath, and limb from limb had rent
The hunter,—but his dagger's plunging steel
With riven bosom made the monster reel;
Unvanquish'd, both to closer combat flew,
Assailants each, till each the other slew :

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