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V.

"I sleep, but my heart waketh."-1 Cant. v. 2.

I sleep-and in the dreams of night
Surpassing fair, and calm, and bright,
My far-off home appears;

Though ceaseless roll the ages by,
No temples there in ruin lie

Beneath the weight of years.

I sleep-as in a magic glass
Such forms of light and glory pass,
In bright ranks to and fro;
All freshly on each deathless brow,
As long of yore, so changeless now,
Their crowns celestial glow.

No shade upon the smile they wear,
No stain upon their vesture fair,
My wondering eyes discern:
The days of toil, of sorrow, past,
Their pilgrim feet have won at last
The bourne whence none return.

I dream-and in my thrilling ear
There echo tones more strangely clear,
More sweet than notes of Spring;
When, dreary Winter past away,
I hear the wild birds' joyous lay

Through wood and welkin ring.

One name upon those lips of love
Now echoes through the realms above,
More dear than aught beside.
O Lamb of God! of thee they tell,
The name is thine they love so well,
Thou scorned and crucified!

How vainly gaze my longing eyes,
My bosom yearns, my spirit sighs,
That joy supreme to share;
To taste the bliss of Thy repose,
Whose love profound no mortal knows
But they who enter there.

VI.

"And she became a pillar of salt."-Gen. xix. 26.

'Twas but a little band, From the dark fate of that doomed city spared; Yet of the few who climb the mountain's side Breathes one of heaven accurst! Her guilty soul Pined for the world below; her tottering feet, Now lingering, pause; and on the city fair, Outspread in gorgeous beauty far beneath, The wanderer turns to gaze. Its golden sheen

Gleams in the rising sun.

All tranquil still

It seems, deep slumbering in the soft lap cradled
Of the rich valley-'neath a silvery veil
Of light mist sleeping, lest the early dawn
Break rudely on its sheltered, calm repose.
But see!

What storm hangs reddening o'er the shadowy plain,
In gloom portentous brooding? Swiftly now
Falls the hot blistering flood. Each lofty spire
And cloud-capt dome, that o'er the distant vale
Reared high a glittering crest, now molten down,
Stream from their towering height-so fearful rage
The blinding fires that pant to swallow all!
Roars on the deafening thunder-yet more dread
The piercing cry from many a gasping throat
That rends the thickening air, as closer still
A red sulphuric winding-sheet of flame
Wraps the vast city round!

One guilty soul,
What though from out that smouldering furnace drawn,
Feels now its withering breath. The deadly blast,
That ruthless swept the distant plain below,
To fan the widening flame, bleached the wan brow
That o'er the ruin gazed. Once blooming red,
Her cheek, with weeping chill, instinctive feels
The blight unseen that creeps apace within.
Her fixed eyes now, with bootless sorrow dim,
Scarce view the blackening pile; till, as she wept,
The salt tide ceased to flow her stiffening hand
Shrank to her stony side! As mute they gazed
Upon her glistening form, each fearful heart
Beat inly quick and loud; for changing slow,
Her wan cheek paled, her thin form whiter grew
Into one frozen heap, one giant tear congealed!
No sheltered grave was hers-unburied there
Upon the mountain's side, a beacon pale,
The lonely Pillar stood; her silvery shroud
The briny drops she wept-herself her monument!

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BONG Ог LIFE.

I.

Close, old companions, round my
This little harbour of the sea,

hearth

That beats around us from our birth-
And let us muse o'er destiny:

If strong, we dash the waves aside,

And breast the currents, brave the blast;

If weak, we float along the tide,

And, like the strongest, sink at last :-
Onward thus, a charmed star,

Floats our soul through life away,
As the world whose dust we are

Drifts through waves of night and day.

II.

Great Nature measured forth the hours
While dim we lay in breathless trance,
And cast our pre-appointed powers

To shape themselves by circumstance:
Yet gives she still, through day and dark,
Some joy to cheer, some dream to bless :-
Man's true vocation 's in the work

That yields the largest happiness.

III.

Gauge well your spirits' strength, and note
The space that suits it prosperously;
Then launch your war-bark, or your boat,
On shallow stream or soundless sea.

A peaceful heart, in summer's breath

Float toward your rest, with pinions furled;

A daring soul, in love with death,

Storm through the waters of the world.

IV.

The spirit of the expanse around

Shapes all conditions to our weal;

None miss the truths they cannot sound,
Or sigh for joys they cannot feel;

Still moon-bright memory sways the years
That roll from life's declining shore,

And sorrow wings to purer spheres

The heart that earth consoles no more.

V.

Come! let us make our heaven of earth,
By living for bright Truth alone;
Old books will crown our simple hearth

With pleasures purer than a throne.
Love, peace, and hope at least are ours,

While yet our bosoms breathe the day; And from the grave the guardian powers

Will light our souls, and lead the way.

T. I.

THE INDUSTRIAL CONDITION OF IRELAND CONSIDERED.

SINCE our last number was placed in the hands of our readers, our Great Industrial Exhibition has closed. It behoves us, now that the excitement of the scene has passed away, to call attention to the lessons which it was calculated to teach. Much, no doubt, has been already given to the world, with reference to the Exhibition, and its probable results; so much, indeed, that we do not pretend to offer any reflections that may not have been previously suggested. It would ill, however, become the position which, as a national publication, we have ever endeavoured to maintain, to allow an event, which is certainly unprecedented in the annals of this country, to pass by without an attempt, at least, to deduce from it the instruction which it conveys. We are not about to attempt any general description of the collection, or of its varied contents, all of which has been already made known to every one. We have already, in previous numbers, offered many observations which seemed to be called for by the occasion, and which we shall not now recapitulate. Our endeavour, in the present instance, will be simply to take a survey of our own industry, and to try to estimate the position which we are fairly entitled to hold as a manufacturing, a commercial, or agricultural country. To this we shall address ourselves with, at least, an earnest desire to arrive at such conclusions as may be just, even though they should, in many instances, fall short of what national vanity might desire. A nation is as open to adulation as an individual, and is not the less susceptible of flattery on points on which it is half conscious it is undeserved. But however it may comport with the dignity of a people to yield themselves to cajolery in political concerns, when they enter into the lists of industrial competition, they have stern realities to encounter, and practical truths to grapple with; and

if the Great Exhibition is to be of any lasting benefit-if it is to prove anything more than a passing pageant, or to leave any impression beyond the memory of pleasant scenes and happy hours-it will be by forcing our lamentable short-comings upon our attention, by teaching us how we may attain to the position which we might have held, and kindling within us a resolute determination-a calm but steadfast purpose of doing so.

Happily we have got some topics of congratulation to cheer and to encourage us; we are not without some instances of success to indicate the path we should pursue. Pre-eminent amongst these has been the progress of the linen trade in the north of Ireland. The chief seat of the manufacture, Belfast, has advanced with a rapidity which is wholly without precedent in this country. But five-andtwenty years ago, there was scarcely a spinning-factory in that whole county. Belfast alone now numbers thirtynine; the number of spindles exceed in amount those of England or of Scotland, or of any other nation; it has a larger mercantile marine than the chief port of France, and exports a greater quantity of linen and of yarn than both France and Belgium taken together; it has entirely outstripped the French manufacture, even in that peculiar branch in which the latter had long the pre-eminence- the manufacture of cambric; and by producing the best and cheapest linen in the world, has driven French, Belgians, Germans, and all other foreigners out of the markets of both North and South America, and, indeed, out of every other market in which we were suffered to meet them on fair terms of equality; and has only not yet succeeded in beating them in their own, because of the stringent tariff which they have been obliged to impose for their protection. We cannot resist

"The Great Industrial Exhibition of 1853." June, 1853. "Industrial Education." September, 1853.

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