Oh, may this cable bear

No harsh or angry word; But may its language e'er

In friendship's cause be heard, To teach all human-kind

To love each other,

And in one union bind
Brother to brother!

D

THE SHOWER OF STARS,*

14th NOVEMBER 1866.

EEP in the dead of night,

While stretched the cloudless vault of heaven on high,

The stars, in sudden streaks of flashing light,

Shot through the startled sky.

As if at one command,

The shining host in showers fell thick and fast,
Like seeds of fire from some great sower's hand
O'er fields of azure cast.

Many a brilliant flush

Marked the quick passage of each falling star,
Like sparks struck forth beneath the rapid rush
Of an archangel's car.

It seemed as we could trace

The Great King's progress up some heavenly street As each observant star fell on its face

To bow before His feet.

*This mighty phenomenon of nature must be fresh in the memory of my readers. From midnight of the 13th of November till past two o'clock on the morning of the 14th the heavens were continuously covered with falling stars, which appeared in almost incalculable numbers.

THE MONARCHS OF THE NILE.

(RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO SIR SAMUEL WHITE AND LADY BAKER.)

HE wondrous tale is told,

TH

The mighty task is done;
For gallant hearts and bold
The distant goal have won,
Which, centuries ago,

Whole legions sought in vain,
Which sages sighed to know,
And princes strove to gain.

To him, whose master mind
Planned and pursued a way

The far-off source to find,

A worthy tribute pay ;

Who, though foes gathered fast,
And seemed his path to fill,

Yet struggled to the last,

With firm, undaunted will.

And doubly honour her,

His consort in the fight,

Whom doubt could not deter,

Whom danger could not fright;

Who bravely played her part,

The weary journey's length,

With woman's constant heart

And more than woman's strength.

Then place two noble names
On Britain's scroll of worth,

The land that proudly claims

The honour of their birth;
And crown their well-fought strife
With fortune's fairest smile,

Crown Baker and his wife

The monarchs of the Nile!

* Since writing the above, I have been told that Lady Baker is not of British birth. All I can say is, if she is not, she deserves to be.

ENGLAND TO IRELAND,

APRIL, 1868.

(WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE VISIT OF THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES TO IRELAND.)

O the green isle of Erin the Saxon prince came;

T°

And warm was the welcome that met him,

And joyful the lips that re-echoed his name

From hearts that will not soon forget him.

And the looks of his consort were lovely and sweet,
And hearty the tribute they paid her,
While many proud spirits lay low at the feet
Of the beautiful Danish invader.

Oh! falsely the foes of fair Erin declare

She is faithless to all that is royal;

For the hearts that complain of the burdens they bear Are none the less honest and loyal.

And in vain on old England the blame shall they cast
Of ne'er heeding her sister isle's sorrow;

For fain would we wipe out the stains of the past,
And hasten a happier morrow.

Sweet Erin! may quarrels divide us no more;

No more may our spirits obey them;

But the ocean that rolls on each weather-worn shore Serve but as a grave where to lay them!