4

And call my greyhounds in ; These lilies all should be ladies gay, To weave the pearls for my silk array, And none but a princely knight shall see Smiles in the lady of Bethmestie."

Then softly said their sister May

"I would ask neither spell nor wand; For better I prize this white rose-spray Pluck'd by my father's hand : And little I heed the knight to see Who seeks the heiress of Bethmeslie!

Yet would I give one of these roses white
If the fairy-queen would ride

Safe o'er this flood ere the dead of night,
And bear us by her side.

And then with her wing let her lift the latch
Of my father's gate, and his slumbers watch,
And touch his eyes with her glow-worm gleams.
Till he sees and blesses us in his dreams.”

The night-winds howl'd o'er Bolton Strid,
The flood was dark and drear,

But through it swam the fairy-queen's steed
The lady May to bear;

And that milk-white steed was seen to skim
Like a flash of the moon on the water's brim :
The morning came, and the winds were tame,
The flood slept on the shore;
But the sisters three of Bethuneslie
Return'd to its hall no more.

Now under the shade of its ruin'd wall
A thorn grows lonely, bare, and tall,
And there is a weak and weeping weed
Seems on its rugged stem to feed;
The shepherds sit in the green recess,
And call them Pride and Idleness,
But there is the root of a white rose-tree
Still blooms at the gate of Bethmeslie.

Woe to the maid that on morn of May
Shall see that White Horse rise!
The hope of her heart shall pass away
As the foam of his nostril flies,
Unless to her father's knee she brings
The white rose-tree's first offerings.—
There is no dew from summer-skies

Has power like the drop from a father's eyes;
And if on her cheek that tear of bliss

Shall mingle with his holy kiss,

The bloom of her check shall blessed be As the Fairy's rose of Bethmeslie.

LINES,

Such thoughts, such feelings animate my soul, To see thy work attain its destined goal.

I hailed the morning of its bright career,
But smiling hope was clouded, by the fear
Lest some disastrous ill should cross its way,
And its proud march to fame and honour stay.
My fear was vain: before my eyes at last,
Thy latest volume spreads its treasures vast.
That work is worthy of a Nation's care,
Which stands confessed to shine without compare.
Here, genius, taste, and learning, all combine,
And round thy brow their blended laurels twine.
Britannia's Muse with conscious pride surveys
A British work, and wakes the note of praise :
Reviews the stores with which thy page is fraught,
From all the mines of varied knowledge brought;
Recounts the sons of Science, who conspired
To make thy work esteemed, acclaimed, admired;
But mostly lauds, and chiefly gives to fame,
Those matchless plates inscribed with Lowry's name.
Lowry, whose powerful genius could impart,
New charms to science, and new grace to art,
And with unrivailed talent proudly teach,

How near perfection's height the works of man might H. reach.

SCOTCH AIR.

By Thomas Moore, Esq.

Oft in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

The smiles, the tears of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken,

The eyes that shin'd, now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!

When I remember all,

The friends so linked together, I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather; Feel like one who treads alone

Some banquet hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, And all but me departed.

VENETIAN AIR.
By the same.

Oh come to me when day-light sets,
Sweet, then come to me;
When smoothly go our gondolets
O'er the moonlight sea.

When mirth awake, and love begins
Beneath that glancing ray,
With sound of lutes and mandolins,
To steal young hearts away.

O then's the hour for those who love,
Sweet, like thee and me;

When all's so calm below, above,

The heaven and o'er the sea;
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles,
And echo rings again,

So sweet that all with ears and souls
Should love and listen then.

Baracolles are the songs chanted by the Venetian Gondoliers.

THE WARRIOR'S FUNERAL. Suggested by the song" Merrily swim we," in the

Monastery.

DOLEFULLY mourn ye!-the night raven screa ms
And the moon will soon sink, as the morning gleams.
Dolefully mourn ye! for this is the hour,
When the Kelpy is dancing in dingled bower:
And while he skips to the screech of the owl,
He's no friend to the rosary, credo, or cowl;
Come, brothers, come, to the work of death,
And pray for the spirit that slumbers beneath.

Dolefully mourn ye !-the night raven screams,
And the mountain shadows grow faint in the streams;
Dolefully mourn ye !-for this is a night,
Whence blessed to mortals is morning's light-
The effin wons in the in the varies, and hark!
Beneath the deep ravine the ban dogs bark;
Let the palmers pray, and the pilgrims weep,
For the warrior below sleeps the dreamless sleep.
Lay his corpse beneath the oak,

Which ne'er was scathed by woodman's stroke ;
Lay him down with his spear in its rest,
His faulchion, hauberk, mail, and crest.
Wrap his martial cloak for a shroud,
While the moon-beam sleeps behind a cloud;
Place on his mortal remains-the sod-
Peace to his ashes !-Rest him God!

Hie brothers, hence-'tis matin time,

The cottar is up-hark he chaunts to the chime,
Of the lofty-tinkjing-matin bell-

Which floats in the breeze over mountain and dell.
Rest thee-rest thee-Warrior brave!
There's one above-who has power to save.
When the vesper bell of the abbey shall toll,
The monks of St. Francis shall pray for thy soul.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

FROM a willow suspended

A Minstrel's harp hung; All its music was ended,

Its chords were unstrung! The youth wont to sound it,How sweetly!-had fled,

And the flowers that still crowned it Were faded and dead.

His fond hopes were thwarted
Who best knew its tone,

And among the cold-hearted
He wandered alone.
With no star-beam to brighten

His pathway of pain,
Nor one kind ray to lighten
Griefs-cherished in vain!

Yet not always dejected,

And one had he roved, Not always neglected,

Unknown, or unloved; But the few who had proved him Were far o'er the wave, And the one that best loved him Was laid in her grave.

For this in his sadness

The lyre he forswore ; And the bright beam of gladness Fell on him no more. Now sweet vigils he keepeth

Where woe cannot come, And beneath the sod sleepeth The sleep of the tomb.

NEW WORKS.

NE of the most remarkable volumes has appeared within the month that has for a long time challenged the curiosity of the public. It is a collection of those early records of the History of Jesus Christ, and of the writings attributed to his disciples, which, for unexplained reasons, were rejected by the councils of Laodicea and Nice, and which bave hitherto either been scattered in expensive collections, or published in forms chiefly addressed to the learned. These most curious Histories fill a volume of the size of the New Testament, whose "Apocryphal" Books they properly constitute, and they will command the attention of all, and the respect of those who do not yield their faith to the authority of Popish councils. In matters of doctrine they are important, and as topics of history and research, they are inestimably curious. The language of the translation is often bald, but it is that which has been adopted by Jones and other Biblical critics, and the present editor has done what Stephens did for the canonical books, by dividing the whole into verses for convenience of reference.

The Natural History of Ants; translated from the French of P. Huber; with additional Notes; by J.R.Johnson, M.D. F.L.S.

Lochiel; or, the Field of Culloden. 3 vols.

Tales of Imagination. 3 vols. Tales of the Heart; by Mrs. Opie. 4 vols. Sintram and his Companions, a Romance, from the German of Baron la Motte Fouque.

The Crusaders, an Historical Romance of the 12th Century; by Louisa Sydney Stanhope. 5 vols.

Sacred Leisure; or, Poems on Religious Subjects; by the Rev. Francis Hodgson A.M.

Mr. Wilson, who has been elected Professor of Moral Philosophy, in the Univer sity of Edinburgh, is the author of the Isle of Palms, City of the Plague, and other beautiful poems. According to report, he is also one of the most able and constant contributors to Blackwood's Magazine, whence we hope his new Moral pursuits will not necessarily remove him, as we have been often delighted with the articles said to be from his pen.

The Author of The Widow of Nain,' intends shortly to publish a new Poem, under the' title of The Outlaw of Taurus, with a few Specimens of a free translation of the Edipus Colonos,' of Sophocles.

The celebrated dog which used to perform in the melo-drama of the Chien de Montargis, died lately in Paris. A lithographic likeness is already published of this admired performer, who could never be prevailed on to sit for his portrait, during his life time.

FEW

were they less pleased with an Euro

ac

Friendly Islands. The crew were very hospitably received by the king, and being detained several weeks on sount of some necessary repairs, became intimate with the most distinguished natives. The Europeans found these people extremely amiable as friends, although they could easily perceive, that when influenced by hostile feelings, their character was irritable, ferocious, and vindictive. The queen having sustained a slight injury from a fall, Mr. Piers, the surgeon of the ship was requested to attend her, and for that purpose resided chiefly in the king's house. His acquaintance with his hosts soon improved into friendship; for their characters were eminently calculated to please each other. Piers was an ardent enthusiastic spirit, overflowing with kindness, and acutely sensitive; he had long pined for more cordial intercourse than the supefircial civility of polished society, and he was delighted to find himself actually beloved and cherished by beings in whose susceptibility, unaffected manners, and uncontrolled passions, he found something congenial with his own feelings, and whose simplicity and ignorance of European arts did not, in his opinion, degrade them in the scale of humanity, or render them less interesting. Nor G ATHENEUM VOL. 8.

intelligence with more of native affability and kindness than any other white man they had seen. This connection became so intimate on both sides, that Piers began seriously to think of ending his days among his new friends, alledging, as an excuse, to the English, the delicate state of his health, and the congeniality of the climate with his constitution. But the crew were by no means willing to relinquish the valuable services of their surgeon upon the eve of their long and perilous homeward voyage. The officers remonstrated with him, and the men proceeded to menaces. It is not likely that he was intimidated, since the natives, a warlike and well-armed people, were able and willing to protect him. But he probably reflected that his engagements ought to be kept sacred, and that his obstinacy might involve many of his countrymen in destruction. He therefore sailed with the rest. Soon after his arrival in England he fell a victim to a pulmonary complaint, which had attacked him on the voyage, and he died in obscurity at London. Some papers which he left, remained untouched for several years, until an inquisitive relative was lately induced to open them, when his curiosity was rewarded with the following tale, which he supposes to be

As he said this he whirled round his heavy club, and then struck it furiously on the ground. His eyes sparkled with rage. Mamana was terrified, yet with true female address she sought to calm the maddening chief. She approached him in tears and took his hand. "Taiofa," she said, "thou wert the friend of my father, and often hast thou promised that venerable chief to protect his daughter. Wilt thou then destroy her? Thou hast four wives younger and fairer than Mamana, why dost thou seek to increase the disquietude of thy home? Thou art the most formidable of the warriors of our island, but Malohi is loved by many chiefs of renown. His death would not pass unrevenged. Cease then, these cruel thoughts, and live in friendship and peace with Mamana and the beloved of her heart."

At these words Taiofa writhed with impatience; once he half raised his club to crush the fair pleader; but he thought of his fame. "Live, foolish girl," he cried, "live, and marry my hated rival; but remember that Taiofa hath vowed his death."

He strode angrily away, leaving Mamana oppressed with grief and fear. As custom would not allow her to visit her intended husband before their marriage, she instantly dispatched a messenger in search of him. Malohi was quickly at her feet, and heard the tender warnings of her fears. Indignation and fury blazed in his eyes when he heard of the insults she had suffered; but he uttered no threats. Mamana, however, saw the fierce resolution he bad formed. "No, Malohi," she said, "leave him to the torments of his own furious passions; risk not thy virtuous life against this monster, who is, alas! too formidable. Inform the chiefs, thy friends, of his designs. Keep thy followers about thee; neglect no means of securing thy own safety, but provoke not the contest. Subdue that horrid useless passion for revenge-leave this violent man to himself, and let us hope that time and reflection will soften his ferocious heart, and make him seek our friendship and forgiveness,"

The youth kissed his beautiful coun. sellor, and promised to avoid his enemy. He then conversed with her on their future prospects, and laid down many a visionary scheme of bliss. In this delightful converse they remained till late in the evening; the full moon beamed brightly over the scene--the nightingale's sweet and plaintive song thrilled through the woods-the lovers seemed alone in the world, and all the world to each other. They parted reluctantly at Mamana's house, where her female attendants received her.

In the morning they heard that Taiofa had left the island, and rejoiced in his departure, which they attributed to shame and remorse for his outrageous behaviour. No further obstacle impeding the wishes of the lovers, their nuptials were celebrated a few days afterwards with due solemnities and rejoicings. The king and all the principal chiefs, to whom Malohi was deservedly dear, attended the festivity.

The marlay, an extensive lawn before the royal mansion, was the scene of the nuptial rejoicings. At one end of it the king, the principal chiefs, the bride and bridegroom, were seated to witness the performance of the day. At a little distance from them, the most plentiful supply of provisions was arranged for distribution after the games. Baked pork, the flesh of a particular species of dogs fattened for the purpose, bananas, yams, and cocoas formed the chief article of the feast. Near these, fifty singers and musicians sat in order on the grass. Some of them beat a drum, consisting of a cylindrical piece of hollowed wood, covered with skin; others played on a sort of sticcado, or instrument composed of pieces of hard wood of different sizes, by striking which they produced the various notes; others again performed on different sorts of flutes, all of which were played by the breath of the nostrils. singers raised their voices in harmony with the instruments, and chaunted the delights of love and the reward of valour.

The

At the king's command, a hundred shells sounded for the gymnastic enter