For on its rushing wings, To your cool shades and springs, That breeze a people brings, Exiled, though free. Ye sister hills, lay down These are the great of earth,— These are the living lights, Till they who name the name Toward Bethlehem's star. Gone are those great and good, Who here, in peril, stood And raised their hymn. Peace to the reverend dead! The light, that on their head Two hundred years have shed, Ye temples, that, to God, Rise where our fathers trod, Guard well your trust― The faith, that dared the sea, The truth, that made them free, Their cherished purity, Their garnered dust. Thou high and holy ONE, Whose care for sire and son While day shall break and close, On these our hills. Napoleon at Rest.-J. PIERPONT. His falchion flashed along the Nile, Here sleeps he now, alone!-not one, Behind the sea-girt rock, the star Gazed as it faded and went down. High is his tomb: the ocean flood, Alone he sleeps: the mountain cloud, That night hangs round him, and the breath Of morning scatters, is the shroud That wraps the conqueror's clay in death. Pause here! The far off world at last Breathes free; the hand that shook its thrones, And to the earth its mitres cast, Lies powerless now beneath these stones. Hark! Comes there from the pyramids, And from Siberian wastes of snow, And Europe's hills, a voice that bids The world be awed to mourn him?—No! The only, the perpetual dirge That's heard here is the sea-bird's cry— The mournful murmur of the surge, The clouds' deep voice, the wind's low sigh. The Death of Napoleon.-I. MCLELLAN, JUN. "The fifth of May came amid wind and rain. Napoleon's passing spirit was deliriously engaged in a strife more terrible than the elements around. The words 'tête d'armée,' (head of the army,) the last which escaped from his lips, intimated that his thoughts were watching the current of a heady fight. About eleven minutes before six in the evening, Napoleon expired." -Scott's Life of Napoleon. WILD was the night; yet a wilder night A few fond mourners were kneeling by, They knew by his awful and kingly look, By the order hastily spoken, That he dreamed of days when the nations shook, He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew, The bearded Russian he scourged again, Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows, Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows, On the snowy cliffs, where mountain-streams He led again, in his dying dreams, His hosts, the broad earth quelling. Again Marengo's field was won, Made pale at his cannons' rattle. He died at the close of that darksome day, Jerusalem.-BRAINARD. "A severe earthquake is said to have taken place at Jerusalem, which as destroyed great part of that city, shaken down the Mosque of Omar, and reduced the Holy Sepulchre to ruins from top to bottom."-New York Mercantile Advertiser. FOUR lamps were burning o'er two mighty graves- Fed with the incense which the pilgrim brings,— As every lip breathes out, " O Lord, thy kingdom come." A mosque was garnished with its crescent moons, There were the trophies which its conquerors wear- For there, with lip profane, the crier stood, And him from the tall minaret you might hear, Singing to all, whose steps had thither trod, That verse, misunderstood, "There is no God but God " Hark! did the pilgrim tremble as he kneeled? Those mighty hands, the elements that wield, His suppliants crowd around him, He can see There was an earthquake once, that rent thy fane, Another earthquake comes. Dome, roof and wall Thou whom we all should worship, praise, and thank, Where was thy mercy in that awful hour, When hell moved from beneath, and thine own heaven did lower? Say, Pilate's palaces-say, proud Herod's towers- To wash away the spot where once a God had stood? Lost Salem of the Jews-great sepulchre Of all profane and of all holy things Where Jew, and Turk, and Gentile yet concur To make thee what thou art! thy history brings With the sad truth which He has prophesied, Who would have sheltered with his holy wings Thee and thy children. You his power defied: You scourged him while he lived, and mocked him as he died! |