POLISH MARTIAL HYMN.

BY LADY CHARLOTTE ST. MAUR.

THE standard's raised, the sword is drawn,
And fix'd the Polish spear;

Our bands are met, our chiefs are sworn,
And what have we to fear!

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Our fiery steeds are tightly rein'd,
And snorting, paw the ground;
With hoof of speed to scour the plain,
They wait the trumpet's sound.

Ere long its thrilling blast shall blow,
Re-echoing afar;

Ere long the pure and stainless snow
Shall blush with crimson war.

Though countless hosts in proud array,
'Gainst freedom's sons advance,

Yet vict❜ry still may crown the day,
And gild the Polish lance!

Henceforth, united let us be,

Though weal or woe betide; For links of honour bind the free, Whom fate can ne'er divide.

And should the soldier's bloody tomb

Await us marshall'd here,

Fond, faithful hearts shall mourn our d. cm,

Then what have we to fear!

THE BRIDE.

BY MRS. ABDY.

WE miss her from these halls of mirth,
Her home is by a calmer hearth,
And gold and gems no longer grace
The loveliest daughter of her race;
She dwells in a secluded spot,
And her vain kindred name her not,

Save to deplore in baffled pride,
The fortunes of the exiled Bride.

The exquisite and tutored song,
That once entranced this radiant throng,
She murmurs now in woodland bowers,
Amid the stars, and trees, and flowers:
Yet one shall bless those syren lays,
And in those dark eyes warmly gaze,
And joyously the hours shall glide
O'er the fond lover and his bride.

Fair girl, rest calmly in thy bliss,

Thou wert not formed for scenes like this,
For feverish hopes, and jealous fears,
And heartless smiles, and hidden tears:
Thy gay companions mourn thy doom,
Think on their fading smiles and bloom,
Their feelings worn, and spirits tried,
And weep for them-young happy bride.

Far from the world's deceitful maze,
Thine are calm nights, and peaceful days,
And friendship's smile, and love's caress
Hallow thy household happiness;

Then in thy guarded home remain,
We would not wish thee here again,
And ever may good angels guide
Thy ways in safety-gentle Bride.

SONNET.

BY WM. HENRY BROOKFIELD.

WE meet at morning, while the laughing light
Of youth is o'er us; e'en from life's alloy
Breeding perforce, like rock-born flowers, a joy ;
-Making its dew of tears that mirth more bright.
Anon we part; but ere the gathering night

Of years, if in the vale again we meet,
Shall we unsmilingly each other greet,
Whose hearts in natural tenderness are dight?
For me, though silver age sit on my brow,
He shall rise up to hear in after time
Thy well remember'd voice in music flow,

As now it blendeth with the breezy prime ;
Dim twilight as the purpled east shall glow,

And curfew sad like pleasant matins chime.

THE GRECIAN WIFE.

BY MISS LOUISA HENRIETTA SHERIDAN.

In the summer of 1832, an English party, consisting of a lady, her son, and daughter, prevailed on me to accompany them on a voyage to the Mediterranean, professedly to explore the beauties of its shores, but in reality to try the effect of sea air for the invalid Clara, the youthful idol of our circle, whose gently expressed wish for my society had all the power of a command; and, after a prosperous passage along the coast of Italy, their commodious yacht brought us among those themes of ancient and modern song, the Greek Isles. The novel scenery, with the luxuriant vegetation of its exquisite climate, enchanted our invalid; and Ypsarà appearing to elicit her strongest preference, we decided on reposing there after our voyage, and took a temporary residence near Ajio Sotira; from hence we daily made excursions to places inaccessible for a carriage; Clara being frequently induced by her picturesque enthusiasm to overtask her failing strength.

Having often heard of the remarkable view from Mount Mavrovouni, she was tempted, one cool, grey morning, to visit it early with Frederick and myself; and we remain sketching from different points, unmindful of the sultry glory of a southern midday sun, until turning to address Clara, I perceived she had fainted over her spirited sketch. In great alarm, Frederick bore her towards a sequestered villa we had previously remarked, while I almost flew up the path before him, to solicit assistance, until a sudden

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turn brought me beneath a verandah, and in presence of a young Greek lady.

Never shall I forget the noble vision of loveliness which met my gaze, as I breathlessly explained, and apologized for, my intrusion. In all the majestic freshness of early womanhood, she was seated watching the slumber of a cherub boy, whose rounded cheek was pillowed by her arm: her costume, of the richest materials, selected with the skill of a painter, consisted of a foustanella of the lightest green satin, under an open guna robe of violet velvet, starred and embroidered in gold, and displaying her swan-like neck and bust, covered by a pearl network; the small fessi-cap of crimson velvet, encircled with gold zechins, was lightly placed on her profuse silken-black hair; and, as she listened, my request was already answered from the depths of her soft lustrous eyes, ere her reply, in the purest Italian, could find utterance.

Clara was soon established on the gorgeously-rayed couch, and recalled by the gentle cares so gracefully bestowed by the fair Greek, whose infant charge, now awake and gaily lisping, had nestled into my arms, and was archly misleading my efforts to pronounce his name, Polizoïdes, correctly. His joyous exclamation first made us aware of the arrival of an officer, of slight, elegant, and very youthful appearance, so strikingly like our lovely entertainer, that I asked, with almost certainty, "Il vostro Fratello, Signora?" A blush of pleasure accompanied her smiling reply: "No; il mio Marito, Lochagos Mavromikális."

The boy was instantly in his father's arms, who wel* Lochagos, captain.