Not even the deeds of him, who, late afar,

Shook the astonished nations with his might; Not even the deeds of her, whose wings of war Wide o'er the ocean stretch their victor flight;Not they shall rise with half th' unbroken light Above the waves of time, fair Greece, as thine;

Earth never yet produced in Heaven's high sight, Through all her climates, offerings so divine,

As thy proud sons have paid at freedom's sacred shrine.

Ye isles of beauty, from your dwelling blue,
Lift up to Heaven that shout unheard too long;
Ye mountains, steep'd in glory's distant hue,
If with you lives the memory of that song

Which freedom taught you, the proud strain prolong; Echo each name that in her cause hath died,

Till grateful Greece enrol them with the throng

Of her illustrious sons, who on the tide

Of her immortal verse eternally shall guide.

THE MOTHER OF THE MACHABEES.

THAT mother viewed the scene of blood;
Her six unconquer'd sons were gone.
Tearless she viewed-beside her stood
Her last-her youngest-dearest one;
He looked upon her and he smiled.
Oh! will she save that only child?

"By all my love-my son," she said,

"The breast that nursed-the womb that bore,

Th' unsleeping care that watch'd thee, fed,—

Till manhood's years required no more;

By all I've wept and pray'd for thee,
Now, now, be firm and pity me.

"Look, I beseech thee, on yon heaven,
With its high field of azure light;
Look on this earth, to mankind given,
Array'd in beauty and in might;
And think, nor scorn thy mother's prayer,
On him who said it and they were!

"So shalt thou not this tyrant fear,

Nor recreant shun the glorious strife: Behold! thy battle-field is near;

Then go, my son, nor heed thy life:
Go, like thy faithful brothers die,
That I may meet you all on high."

Like arrow from the bended bow,
He sprang upon the bloody pile-
Like sunrise on the morning's snow
Was that heroic mother's smile:
He died!-nor fear'd the tyrant's nod-
For Judah's law,-and Judah's God.

MARY MAGDALEN.

To the hall of that feast came the sinful and fair:

She heard in the city that Jesus was there,

She mark'd not the splendor that blazed on their board, But silently knelt at the feet of the Lord.

The hair from her forehead, so sad and so meek,

Hung dark o'er the blushes that burn'd on her cheek;
And so still and so lowly she bent in her shame,

It seem'd as her spirit had flown from its frame.

The frown and the murmur went round through them all,
That one so unhallow'd should tread in that hall.
And some said the poor would be objects more meet,
For the wealth of the perfumes she shower'd at His feet.

She mark'd but her Saviour, she spoke but in sighs,
She dared not look up to the heaven of His eyes;
And the hot tears gush'd forth at each heave of her breast.
As her lips to His sandals she throbbingly press'd.

On the cloud after tempests, as shineth the bow,
In the glance of the sunbeam, as melteth the snow,
He looked on that lost one-her sins were forgiven;
And Mary went forth in the beauty of Heaven.

LINES TO THE BLESSED SACRAMENT.

THOU dear and mystic semblance

Before whose form I kneel,

I tremble as I think upon

The glory thou dost veil,

And ask myself, can he, who late

The ways of darkness trod,

Meet, face to face and heart to heart,
His sin-avenging God?

Myudge and my Creator,
If I presume to stand
Amid Thy pure and holy ones,
It is at Thy command,
To lay before Thy mercy's seat
My sorrows and my fears,
To wail my life and kiss Thy feet
In silence and in tears.

Oh, God, that dreadful moment,
In sickness and in strife,

When Death and Hell seemed watching
For the last weak pulse of life.
When on the waves of sin and pain
My drowning soul was tost,
Thy hand of mercy saved me then,
When hope itself was lost!

I hear Thy voice, my Saviour,

It speaks within my breast,

Oh, come to Me, thou weary one,

I'll hush thy cares to rest.”

Then from the parched and burning waste

Of sin, where long I trod,

I come to Thee, thou stream of Life,

My Saviour and my God.

THE EXILE'S FAREWELL.

ADIEU, my own dear Erin,
Reeeive my fond, my last adieu;
I go, but with me bearing

A heart still fondly turned to you.

The charms that nature gave thee
With lavish hand, shall cease to smile,
And the soul of friendship leave thee,
Ere I forget my own green isle.

Ye fields where heroes bounded
To meet the foes of liberty;
Ye hills that oft resounded

The joyful shouts of victory;

Obscured is all your glory,

Forgotten all your former fame, And the minstrel's mournful story Now calls a tear at Erin's name.

But still the day may brighten

When those tears shall cease to flow,

And the shout of freedom lighten
Spirits now so drooping low.

Then, should the glad breeze blowing

Convey the echo o'er the sea,

My heart with transport glowing

Shall bless the hand that made thee free.