Awake! not Greece-she is awake!

Awake, my spirit,—think through whom My life-blood tracks its parent lake—

And then strike home!

Tread all reviving passions down,
Unworthy manhood-unto thee,
Indifferent should the smile or frown

Of beauty be!

If thou regret'st thy youth-why live?—
The land of honourable death

Is here-up to the field, and give

Away thy breath!

Seek out-less often sought than found-
A soldier's grave, for thee the best,
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.

SAPPHO.

BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY.

Look on this brow!-the laurel wreath
Beamed on it, like a wreath of fire;

For passion gave the living breath,
That shook the chords of Sappho's lyre!

Look on this brow!-the lowest slave,

The veriest wretch of want and care,

Might shudder at the lot that gave
Her genius, glory, and despair.

For, from these lips were uttered sighs,

That, more than fever, scorched the frame; And tears were rained from these bright eyes, That from the heart, like life-blood, came.

She loved!-she felt the lightning-gleam,
That keenest strikes the loftiest mind;
Life quenched in one ecstatic dream,
The world a waste before-behind.

And she had hope-the treacherous hope,
The last deep poison of the bowl,
That makes us drain it, drop by drop,
Nor lose one misery of soul.

Then all gave way-mind, passion, pride!

She cast one weeping glance above,

And buried in her bed, the tide,

The whole concentred strife of Love!

LINES

WRITTEN ON THE FIRST VIEW OF FONTHILL ABBEY.

BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES.

THE mighty master waved his wand, and lo!
On the astonished eye the glorious show
Burst like a vision! Spirit of the place!
Has the Arabian wizard with his mace
Smitten the barren downs, far onward spread,
And bade the enchanted palace rise instead?
Bade the dark woods their solemn shades extend,
High to the clouds yon spiry tower ascend?
And starting from th' umbrageous avenue
Spread the rich pile, magnificent, to view?
Enter!-From the arched portal look again
Back, on the lessening woods and distant plain !
Ascend the steps!—The high and fretted roof
Is woven by some elfin hand aloof;
Whilst from the painted window's long array
A mellow light is shed as not of day.
How gorgeous all!-O never may the spell

Be broken, that arrayed those radiant forms so well!

NOTES.

1.- Page 1.

Sketches taken from Dover Castle during a Storm.

These beautiful poems are from the pen of W. Read, Esq., the author of "Rouge and Noir, with other Poems," a volume of very high promise. They were originally published in the Literary Gazette, under the signature of "Eustace."

2.-Page 43.

The Mossy Seat.

This poem, the production of D. M. Moir, Esq., the Delta of Blackwood's Magazine, is incorrectly ascribed in the body of the work to J. Moir, Esq. The latter gentleman is no relation to the author of "The Legend of Genevieve," although he has published several vigorous translations from the Spanish, in an article on Spanish Literature in the Edinburgh Review.

3.--Page. 50.

Ode to France.-By Lord Byron.

This splendid Ode had not been transplanted into any edition of Lord Byron's works when first printed in this volume. It has lately been included in the edition of the noble poet, published in Paris, by Galignani.

4.-Page 64.

To the Spirit of Poetry.

This exquisite little poem, which appeared originally under the signature of Zarach, is from the pen of J. S. Clarke, Esq.

5.-Page 80.

My Brother's Grave.

This touching poem was, if we mistake not, first printed in a little periodical called "The College Magazine." It was afterwards transplanted into the Etonian. Its author, Mr., now the Rev. J. Moultrie, has written several charming poems in the Etonian, and Knight's Quarterly Magazine. Mr. Moultrie is also the author of the Stanzas at page 157.

6.-Page 88.

Lord Byron's latest Verses.

These lines have been printed very incorrectly in most of the periodicals; but are here given from an autograph copy of Lord Byron in the possession of John Bowring, Esq. They were first put in circulation by the person who calls himself Major Parry, and who has written a book entitled "The last Days of Lord Byron." Some idea may be formed of the value of his version, from the fact, that for the lineTread all reviving passions down,

Is given

Tread these reviewing papers down,

and that Mr. P. was accustomed to cite this passage as a proof that Lord Byron's feelings on the subject of the press had undergone a very sensible alteration!

7.-Page 91.

A Sketch.

These lines of the gifted author of the Improvisatrice, have been published in her earliest volume, "The Fate of Adelaide, and other Poems."

8.-Page 93.

The Burial of Sir John Moore.

This poem appeared originally in an Irish (we believe, a Belfast) newspaper, dated from Trinity College, Dublin. After a good deal of discussion, they have been ascribed to the Rev. John Wolfe, on authority which scarcely admits of a question.

9.-Page 105.

A Drinking Song.-By Lord Byron.

This singularly original poem, which the veracious Captain Medwin tells us was composed by Lord Byron one day after dinner, during his sojourn with the noble bard, was printed several years before in a volume of Translations from the Classics, by John Cam Hobhouse, Esq.; as were also the Stanzas, pages 217, 225, and 335. Mr. H.'s work transpired (for it can scarcely be said to have been published) in 1809.

10.-Page 107.

A Recollection.

This poem is improperly ascribed to J. Moir, Esq. It is from the pen of John Malcolm, Esq., and has been included in a volume of very charming poetry, entitled "The Buccaneer, with other Poems."

11.-Page 116.
Magdalena.

By H. A. Driver, Esq., author of " The Arabs."

12.-Page 118.

The Village Church.

Improperly referred to a provincial newspaper, but extracted from the "Velvet Cushion," by the Rev. J. W. Cunningham, of Harrow.