Ah! bitter, bitter grows the cold,

The ice grows more and more;

More settled stare the wolf and bear,
More patient than before.

Oh! think you, good Sir John Franklin,
We'll ever see the land?

'Twas cruel to send us here to starve,
Without a helping hand.

'Twas cruel to send us here, Sir John,
So far from help or home,

To starve and freeze on this lonely sea:
I ween, the Lords of the Admiralty
Had rather send than come.

Oh! whether we starve to death alone,
Or sail to our own country,

We have done what man has never done-
The open ocean danced in the sun-

We passed the Northern Sea!

KANE-DIED FEBRUARY 16, 1857.—Fitz James O'Brien.

ALOFT upon an old basaltic crag,

Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole

Gazes with dead face on the seas that roll

Around the secret of the mystic zone,
A mighty nation's star-bespangled flag
Flutters alone,

And underneath, upon the lifeless front
Of that drear cliff, a simple name is traced;
Fit type of him, who famishing and gaunt,
But with a rocky purpose in his soul,
Breasted the gathering snows,
Clung to the drifting floes,

By want beleaguered, and by winter chased,
Seeking the brother lost amid that frozen waste.

Not many months ago we greeted him,

Crowned with the icy honors of the North,
Across the land his hard-won fame went forth,
And Maine's deep woods were shaken limb by limb
His own mild Keystone State, sedate and prim,
Burst from decorous quiet as he came,

Hot Southern lips with eloquence aflame,
Sounded his triumph. Texas, wild and grim,
Proffered its horny hand. The large-lunged West,
From out his giant breast,

Yelled its frank welcome. And from main to main,
Jubilant to the sky,
Thundered the mighty cry,
HONOR TO KANE!

In vain-in vain beneath his feet we flung
The reddening roses! All in vain we poured
The golden wine, and round the shining board
Sent the toast circling, till the rafters rung
With the thrice tripled honors of the feast!
Scarce the buds wilted and the voices ceased
Ere the pure light that sparkled in his eyes,
Bright as auroral fires in Southern skies,

Faded and faded! And the brave young heart
That the relentless Arctic winds had robbed
Of all its vital heat, in that long quest
For the lost captain, now within his breast
More and more faintly throbbed.

His was the victory; but as his grasp
Closed on the laurel crown with eager clasp,
Death launched a whistling dart;
And ere the thunders of applause were done
His bright eyes closed forever on the sun!
Too late too late the splendid prize he won
In the Olympic race of Science and of Art!
Like to some shattered berg that, pale and lone,
Drifts from the white North to a Tropic zone,
And in the burning day

Wastes peak by peak away,
Till on some rosy even
It dies with sunlight blessing it; so he
Tranquilly floated to a Southern sea,
And melted into heaven!

He needs no tears, who lived a noble life!
We will not weep for him who died so well:
But we will gather round the hearth, and tell
The story of his strife,

Such homage suits him well;

Better than funeral pomp, or passing bell!

What tale of peril and self-sacrifice!

Prisoned amid the fastnesses of ice,

With hunger howling o'er the wastes of snow!
Night lengthening into months; the ravenous floe
Crunching the massive ships, as the white bear
Crunches his prey. The insufficient share
Of loathsome food;

The lethargy of famine: the despair
Urging to labor, nervelessly pursued ;
Toil done with skinny arms, and faces hued
Like pallid masks, while dolefully behind
Glimmered the fading embers of a mind!

That awful hour, when through the prostrate band
Delirium stalked, laying his burning hand

Upon the ghastly foreheads of the crew.
The whispers of rebellion, faint and few
At first, but deepening ever till they grew
Into black thoughts of murder: such the throng
Of horrors bound the Hero. High the song
Should be that hymns the noble part he played!
Sinking himself—yet ministering aid

To all around him. By a mighty will
Living defiant of the wants that kill,

Because his death would seal his comrades' fate;
Cheering with ceaseless and inventive skill
Those Polar waters, dark and desolate.
Equal to every trial, every fate,

He stands, until spring, tardy with relief,
Unlocks the icy gate,

And the pale prisoners thread the world once more,
To the steep cliffs of Greenland's pastoral shore
Bearing their dying chief!

Time was when he should gain his spurs of gold
From royal hands, who wooed the knightly state;
The knell of old formalities is tolled,

And the world's knights are now self-consecrate.
No grander episode doth chivalry hold

In all its annals, back to Charlemagne,
Than that lone vigil of unceasing pain,
Faithfully kept through hunger and through cold,
By the good Christian knight, ELISHA KANE!

DISCOVERIES OF GALILEO.-By Hon. Edward Everett.

THERE are occasions in life in which a great mind lives years of rapt enjoyment in a moment. I can fancy the emotions of Galileo, when, first raising the newly-constructed telescope to the heavens, he saw fulfilled the grand prophecy of Copernicus, and beheld the planet Venus crescent like the

moon.

It was such another moment as that, when the immortal printers of Mentz and Strasburg received the first copy of the Bible into their hands, the work of their divine art; like that, when Columbus, through the gray dawn of the 12th of October, 1492, beheld the shores of San Salvador; like that, when the law of gravitation first revealed itself to the intellect of Newton; like that, when Franklin saw, by the stiffening fibres of the hempen cord of his kite, that he held the lightning in his grasp; like that, when Leverrier received back from Berlin the tidings that the predicted planet was found.

Yes, noble Galileo, thou art right. "It DOES move." Bigots may make thee recant it, but it moves, nevertheless. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, and the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides of air move, and the empires of men move, and the world of thought moves, ever onward and upward, to higher facts and bolder theories. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but they can no more stop the progress of the great truth propounded by Copernicus, and demonstrated by thee, than they can stop the revolving earth.

Close, now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye; it has seen what man never before saw; it has seen enough. Hang up that poor little spy-glass; it has done its work. Not Herschel nor Rosse have, comparatively, done more. Franciscans and Dominicans deride thy discoveries now, but the time will come when, from two hundred observatories in Europe and America, the glorious artillery of science shall nightly assault the skies; but they shall gain no conquests in those glittering fields before which thine shall be forgotten.

Rest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens;-like him, scorned, persecuted, broken-hearted!-in other ages, in distant hemispheres, when the votaries of science, with solemn acts of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edifices to the cause of knowledge and truth, thy name shall be mentioned with honor.

OWED TO THE STEEM FIRE ENGINE.-By A. Stoic.
Suggested by Seaing it Skwirt.

GRATE ingine you have eradicated Fire machines
Worked by human mussel-Grate ingine You
skwirt on tops of houses where the flames
Protrude, and you immediately eckstinguish.
Grate Ingine!-

Stupendoowus steam pump. You suck. You
Draw up, and you skwirt water on the raging
and devowring elament commonly knowne as
Fire. And you suckseat in kwenching the aforesede.
Stupendoowus Steem pump.

Mitey destroyer of ignited kumbustibuls when you
Get to a sistern, you run your sucktions in.

Your Enjinear puts on adishional steem,

And you proceed forthwith to darken down calighted matter.
Mitey destroyer of ignited kombustibuls.

Grand ecksterminator of blaseing material. You Must feal prowd bekase you have plenty

of water on hand and don't use

Spiritous lickers-You don't work much
Bekause you have nothing to do.

Grate exterminator of blaseing material!

Wonderful Infantile Water Works. You have
Superseaded the laboring efforts of inde-
viduals to perfect hand pumps. And you
Now stand out in bass relievus to the enemy
Of Flame. Because you always come out first best!
Wonderful Infantile Water Works!

Thou spreader of the akweous Fluid-You
Know full well, your hundred ef feet of pipe in
Your biler, big wheals, little walves,

&c., are death to the old fire boys and

useful to Insurance Companies.

Thou spreader of the akweous Fluid!

Steem Fire Engine-your useful.

use wood and koal-you make

You

a big noise with your whistle, and
You leave a streak of fire behind you
in the streat. But steam Fire Ingine your
Useful. Your a-a trump-Go on-

Go on Steam Fire Ingine.

Go on-Grate old Skwirt!

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.—By John G. Whittier.

UP from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,

The cluster'd spires of Frederick stand,
Green-wall'd by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord,

To the eyes of the famish'd rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early Fall,
When Lee march'd over the mountain wall,

Over the mountains winding down,

Horse and foot, into Frederick town.