Down, down went the maid,-still the chieftain pursued ;

Who flies must be followed ere she can be wooed.
Untempted by treasures, unawed by alarms,
The maiden at length he has clasped in his arms!

They rose from the deep by a smooth-spreading strand,

Whence beauty and verdure stretched over the land. 'Twas an isle of enchantment! and lightly the breeze, With a musical murmur, just crept through the trees.

The haze-woven shroud of that newly-born isle
Softly faded away from a magical pile,

A palace of crystal, whose bright-beaming sheen
Had the tints of the rainbow-red, yellow, and green.

And grottoes, fantastic in hue and in form,
Were there, as flung up-the wild sport of the storm;
Yet all was so cloudless, so lovely, and calm,

It seemed but a region of sunshine and balm.

"Here, here shall we dwell in a dream of delight,
Where the glories of earth and of ocean unite!
Yet, loved son of earth! I must from thee away;
There are laws which e'en spirits are bound to obey!

"Once more must I visit the chief of my race,
His sanction to gain ere I meet thy embrace.
In a moment I dive to the chambers beneath :
One cause can detain me—one only-'tis death !”

They parted in sorrow, with vows true and fond;
The language of promise had nothing beyond.
His soul all on fire, with anxiety burns:
The moment is gone-but no maiden returns.

What sounds from the deep meet his terrified ear What accents of rage and of grief does he hear? What sees he? what change has come over the flood What tinges its green with a jetty of blood?

Can he doubt what the gush of warm blood would explain ?

That she sought the consent of her monarch in vain !
For see all around, in white foam and froth,
The waves of the ocean boil up in their wrath!

The palace of crystal has melted in air,

And the dyes of the rainbow no longer are there;
And grottoes with vapour and clouds are o'ercast,
The sunshine is darkness—the vision has past!

Loud, loud was the call of his serfs for their chief; They sought him with accents of wailing and grief: He heard, and he struggled—a wave to the shore, Exhausted and faint, bears O'Sullivan More!

S

REV. GEORGE CROLY
(1780-1860)

LEONIDAS

HOUT for the mighty men,

Who died along this shore.

Who died within this mountain's glen !

For never nobler chieftain's head

Was laid on Valor's crimson bed,
Nor ever prouder gore

Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day
Upon thy strand, Thermopylæ !

Shout for the mighty men,

Who on the Persian tents,

Like lions from their midnight den
Bounding on the slumbering deer,
Rush'd a storm of sword and spear;
Like the roused elements,

Let loose from an immortal hand,
To chasten or to crush a land!

But there are none to hear;
Greece is a hopeless slave.
LEONIDAS! no hand is near
To lift thy fiery falchion now;
No warrior makes the warrior's vow
Upon thy sea-wash'd grave.

The voice that should be rais'd by men,
Must now be given by wave and glen.

And it is given !—the surge

The tree, the rock, the sand
On Freedom's kneeling spirit urge,
In sounds that speak but to the free,
The memory of thine and thee !
The vision of thy band

Still gleams within the glorious dell
Where their gore hallow'd as it fell !

And is thy grandeur done?

Mother of men like these!
Has not thy outcry gone,

Where Justice has an ear to hear ?—
Be holy! God shall guide thy spear;
Till in thy crimson'd seas

Are plunged the chain and scimitar,
GREECE shall be a new-born Star !

THE ISLAND OF ATLANTIS

"For at that time the Atlantic Sea was navigable, and had an island before that mouth which is called by you Pillars of Hercules. But this island was greater than both Lybya and all Asia together, and afforded an easy passage to other neighbouring islands, as it was easy to pass from those islands to all the continent which borders on this Atlantic Sea. But, in succeeding times, prodigious earthquakes and deluges taking place, and bringing with them desolation in the space of one day and night, all that warlike race of Athenians was at once merged under the earth; and the Atlantic island itself, being absorbed in the sea, entirely disappeared.”—Plato's Timæus.

H thou Atlantic, dark and deep,

OF

Thou wilderness of waves,

Where all the tribes of earth might sleep
In their uncrowded graves!

The sunbeams on thy bosom wake,
Yet never light thy gloom;
The tempests burst, yet never shake
Thy depths, thou mighty tomb!

Thou thing of mystery, stern and drear,
Thy secrets who hath told?
The warrior and his sword are there,
The merchant and his gold.

There lie their myriads in thy pall,
Secure from steel and storm;
And he, the feaster of them all,
The canker-worm.

Yet on this wave the mountain's brow
Once glowed in morning's beam ;
And, like an arrow from the bow,
Out sprang the stream:

And on its bank the olive grove,
And the peach's luxury,

And the damask rose-the night-bird's love –
Perfumed the sky.

Where art thou, proud Atlantis, now?

Where are thy bright and brave?

Priest, people, warriors' living flow?
Look on that wave.

Crime deepened on the recreant land,

Long guilty, long forgiven;

There power upreared the bloody hand,
There scoffed at Heaven.