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to have been made from the bars of the him equally beloved by the people ; and fatal oriel, the report excited many a when he had been some time in orders, shudder among those who heard the he was enabled to procure a plenary history of the original sacrilege. It pardon for such of his wandering kinneeded but one other deed of blood to dred as still remained without the pale fill up the measure of calamity which of the church. The remnant of the had been dealt out to that ill-fated dis. Muintir Gillmore came in with ready triet : the abbot of Bangor was found subunission and acquiescence in whatmurdered in his own cloisters, about a ever was required by their inissionary month after the death of Mac Gillinore; chieftain, and brother Virgil had the whether by one of the survivors of the satisfaction at last of assisting at the outlawed clan, or by Black Alan, is un. baptism of as many of his old catechucertain : but the general belief was, that mens as remained. he had perished by the hands of the latter.

Brother Virgil had now but to fulfil “I think I may stop here ;" said the injunctions of the dying chieftain. Turlough ;“only adding that the name Harry Oge was taken under his pro- of Stephen Chamberlaine appears as tection and tutelage : the boy, with a Seneschal of Ards in a patent roll of natural fonduess for gentle pursuits, the next reign, and that Harry Oge, soon became the darling of the frater- having assumed the name of Junius, nity: his piety and benevolence made lived to be prior of his order.”

EPIGRAM BY THE REV. MARK BLOXHAM.

The author of the new Paradise Re- the latter circumstance, of which he was gained, having been much censured by quite ignorant till after the publication his religious friends for dedicating his of his book, has made the amende hobook to a nobleman of reputed hetero- norable in the following epigram: dox opinions, on being made aware of

What! Bloxham, a sound divine, inseribe his book
To Brougham, a Deist or Socinian known!
Why think it strange our bard such bero took
When he to Milton had the gauntlet thrown?
To out-do him, the bard to Brougham was civil ;
Remember Milton's hero was the devil.

M. B.

This is a funny little epigram, and if of Paradise Regained, as the price it be written by the Rev. Mark Blox- of a living to any one who will sell ham, as we are credibly informed it him one on the terms.' was, it will gain him more credit than N.B. To constitute simony there his Paradise Regained. Our readers must be a valuable consideration. are perhaps aware that the Reverend

A. P. Gentleman has offered the completion

AN EVENING IN THE BAY OF NAPLES.

“Naples ! thou heart of men which ever pantest

Naked beneath the lidless eye of heaven;
Elysian City, which to calm enchantest

The mutinous air and sea : they round thee even

As sleep round love are driven.
Metropolis of a ruined Paradise,
Long lost, late won, and yet but half regained."-Shelley.

1.

Down Ischia's steep the sun has set,

And left the stainless blue of heaven
Flushed with the sultry glory yet

His sinking beams have given,
As richly o'er the trembling sea
Lingers still the light of day.
How rich the light, how pure the hue

That spreads o'er yon fair sky,
No heart may dream, no tongue may

tell
But their's whose fate 't has been to dwell
Beneath the ever-glorious blue

Of sunlit Italy.
And now, as comes his latest ray
Dancing o'er the smiling sea,
Hark, from the distant minaret pealing,

To mark the hallowed hour of pray'r,
The mellowed chime of bells comes stealing

Soft o'er the stirless air,
Making such clear unearthly melody

Athwart the growing shades of even,
That mortal ears may take it well to be

The tongues of angels chanting down from heaven

Midway to man's abode,
To hear the songs of praise that rise
From countless lips into the skies

Hailing the stainless Bride of God.*

II.
Down Ischia's side has sunk the sun,

And Capri's vine-clothed isle
Flings o'er the sea its shadow dun,

Lengthening o'er many a mile
To Castel Mare's sheltered strand,

As though, to join the rock and shore,
'Twere strewn by spirits' unseen hand

A shadowy causeway o'er ;
While ever through the roseate sky,

That looks like northern morning's breaking,

Bright as a young babe's cheek when waking,
The sulphury smoke mounts taperingly

• The moment of sunset is appointed, in Roman Catholic countries, for the evening service to the Virgin, and the « Ave Maria,” as it is led, is proclaimed by the peals that ring out from all the church bells, which produce a strikingly fine effect. This custom has given rise to a very sweet episode of Byron. (Don Juan, canto 3, stanza 102.)

From Vesuvio's cratered cone,

Whose azure brow

Is tranquil now
As he sleeps on his lava throne.
God ! 'tis a solemn and thoughtful sight

To look on that murderer's sleep,
As his head is bright in the fading light

When the sun is on the deep :
His black thick breath, in sulphureous wreath,

Puff's in the still clear air, Forced by the sobs when his hot heart throbs

As he heaves in his restless lair.
Bared to the bone are his ribs of stone,

Stript by his own heart's fire ;
Round his feet are piled the ruins wild

That he wrought in his wakeful ire.

III.

Down Ischia's side the sun has set,

And now the purple tints of even, Along the far horizon met,

Steal mellow o'er the gloaming heav'n,
Bathing in their dulcet light,

Sant Eremo's castled height,
Blending with the shadows deep
Of Buttress strong, and tow'r, and keep,

A hue so soft and hoar,
That Time's all wasting hand appears
To sanctify the pile he sears

With many a deep rent o’er.
And high into the dreamy air,
From the terraced city fair
That sinks to meet the ocean's bounds,
Rise, in ever thronging sounds,
Laughter wild, and faint cries telling
Of restless life within her dwelling.
And softly o'er the silent sea

Falls the plash of some lone oar,
Wafted in faint melody

To the gently curving shore,
Whose peopled edge is flaring bright
With many a moving, flashing light
Streaming through the sombre air,
As if the baffled daylight there

Were struggling still with night-
And all along the world on high

The fadeless stars are hung,
From Zenith to the boundary,
Where azure sea meets azure sky

In thronging myriads Alung;
You scarce can tell if yon faint light,

That burns with trembling beam
Upon the distant verge of night,

Floats on the sky or stream.
And well that ocean, still and blue,

Might cheat the charmed eye
To deem, outspread beneath its view,

Some wondrous nether sky,

For many a snowy sail unfurled,

As 'twere in mimicry
Of clouds within the skyey world,

Floats o'er the slumbering sea-
And many a star-like light is seen

Along its breast to rove,
That burns as fair and bright, I ween,

As those in heaven above ;
For the fisherman's flinging his net in the sea,
And joyously singing his barcarole frec-
And the sea-star that lights the ocean dark
Is kindled in his lonely bark ;
And these are the strains that steal along,

Faintly floating to the shore,
Waking inany a deathless song

Of the bards of the days of yore.

IV.

And who are they that sing these strains,

That erst Torquato sung?
A race of slaves in all, save chains

Not yet around them flung.
Degenerate children of the brave,

The virtuous, and the free,
Too feeble now their land to save,

Too vicious and too cowardly
For that best boon to mortals given,
The heritage of God in heaven-

The boon of Liberty!

V.

If, as ye boast yourselves, ye be

Sprung from that mighty sire, *
Jove's noblest earth-born progeny,
Who triumphed o'er the tyranny

Of Juno's vengeful ire-
Where is the all-sustaining soul-

The strength, the God-like energy
That sunk not 'neath the stern control

Of heaven's unjust decree?
Does not one smouldering spark remain,

Of him whose infant clasp
The full-flushed serpent's heart could strain

Within his strangling gasp?
Or yet has cankering sloth and years
And foreign threats and coward fears

So worn ye to decay
Ye cannot crush the snakes that climb
Around ye in your manhood's prime

To sap your lives away,
Till men believe your lineage high
A jest in bitter mockery
To show you, to all nations' scorn,
In utter feebleness forlorn.

• The Campanian cities are said to have been originally colonized by the descendants of Hercules.

VI.
Sweet clime! where all that Nature gave

With bounteous hand and free,
Mountain and valley, isle and cave,

Still smile unchangingly
In all the fair and lovely hues
That first awoke Italia's muse.*
The wanderer—who has left his home

In a far, chill northern land,
Amid the classic scenes to roam,

Sweet Naples, near thy strand-
He blesses thee with fervent pray'r

As his footsteps linger o'er,
In the baliny evening air,

Thy ever-beauteous shore.
When winding up the caverned side

Of that fair verdant hill
That looks upon the outspread tide

So ebbless and so still,
He view's so sweet a scene around
That men have named it lioly ground,
Where Sorrow's voice is charmed to rest,
And all who gaze perforce are blest."
Or straying through the leafy bow'rs
Where the broken sunshine pours
Its light upon the gushing vine,
He pauses o'er the spot divine
Where Maro chose his shaded rest
Mid scenes he loved and sung the best.
He blesses thee, when ou the deep,

At the hour that daylight dies,
He sees the golden sunset steep

In crimson light thy cloudless skies
Thy hills, thy countless leaves and isles

Glowing in the day-god's smiles.
May thy sons awake from sleep,

Like the smouldering fire that dwells
Harmless long within the deep

Of Vesuvio's sulpbury cells-
May the hour of their awaking,
O'er the world in glory breaking,
Flashing fierce in angry pride,
Sweep with hot resistless tide
O'er the locust tribes that dare,

Tampering with thy sleeping strength,
Settle on thy bosom fair

As if their puny might at length
Could strangle thus the throes of ire

That throb within thy heart of fire.
Naples, September 25th, 1835.

lota.

• Sorrento, on the bay of Naples, was the birth-place of Torquato Tasso.

Pasilipo or Pausiilipo is said to have acquired its name from the words (Tauros Tno augns). “pausis tes lupes,” rest from sorrow, on account of the beauty of its situation and view.

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