BY DELTA. It is a desolate eve; Dim, cheerless is the scene my path around;— With vigorous talons clenched, and bright eye shut, As if, though stilled by death, thy heart were unsubdued. How cam'st thou to thy death? Did lapsing years o'ercome, and leave thee weak,— Did scythe-winged lightning flash athwart thy brain, A proud life hath been thine! High on the herbless rock thou 'wok'st to birth, Warm round thy heart, when first thy wings essayed, And, far receded down, the dim material world! How fast-how far-how long Thine had it been from rack-veiled eyrie high The terror-stricken dove Cowered down amid the oak-wood's central shade; That thou, the forest king, wert out upon the gale! When downward glens were dark, And o'er moist earth glowed morning's rosy star, And, oh! how grand to soar Beneath the full moon, on strong pinion driven; Dead king-bird of the waste! And is thy curbless span of freedom o'er? No more shall thine ascending form be traced? While rising o'er the stream-girt vales, thy form, Betwixt thee and dim earth the zig-zag lightnings flee! A child of freedom thou! Thy birthright the tall cliff and sky beyond: The slave and freeman must alike obey: Pride reels; and Power, that kept a world in awe, The dreadful summons hears ;-and where are they?— Vanished like night-dreams from the sleeper's mind, Dusk 'mid dissolving day, or thunder on the wind! Literary Souvenir. A LAMENT FOR CHIVALRY. ALAS! the days of Chivalry are fled! The brilliant tournament exists no more! Our loves are cold and dull as ice or lead, And courting is a most enormous bore! In those good "olden times,” a “ladye bright” Might sit within her turret or her bower, While lovers sang and played without all night, And deemed themselves rewarded by a flower. Yet, if one favoured swain would persevere, In despite of her haughty scorn and laugh, Perchance she threw him, with the closing year, An old odd glove, or else a worn-out scarf. And he a thousand oaths of love would swear, All picturing her matchless beauty, which He might discern, I ween, not much about, Seeing he could but see her 'cross the ditch, As she between the lattice bars peeped out. Off then, away he'd ride o'er sea and land, And dragons fell and mighty giants smite, With the tough spear he carried in his hand : And all to prove himself her own true knight. Meanwhile, a thousand more, as wild as he, Were all employed about the self-same thing; And having ridden hard for each "ladye," They all came back, and met within a ring: Where all the men who were entitled "Syr" And, in the stir up, thrust each other down. And then they galloped round with dire intent, As oft as any of them had a tumble. And when, perchance, some ill-starred wight might die, Mayhap some fair-one wiped one beauteous eye,— Soon then the lady, whose grim stalwart swain Then trumpets sounded, bullocks whole were drest, And when fair daughters bloomed like beauteous flowers, But maidens now from hall and park are brought, Alas! the days of Chivalry are fled! The brilliant tournament exists no more! Literary Gazette. THE COMPLAINT. A BALLAD. REST, rest, dear babe! in balmy sleep reposing, Shall wake that smile in which alone I'm blest. Hush thee, sweet babe! let nought disturb thy slumbers, Thus frames for thee the soothing favourite numbers, Alas! my child, for thee no father's bosom No sheltering arm protects thy tender blossom, And screens its weakness from life's gathering storm. In vain with tears and suppliant accents blended, Vainly to him this faithful heart appealing, Which passion's tenderest, truest flame still warms, Urges those oft-pledged vows, each generous feeling, Though now forgot—which gave me to his arms. How can he thus forego the soft relations, Oft o'er thy lovely form while pensive musing, |