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Thy sympathy and touch,
In all thy People's weal ;
Which loud proclaims thee to the World,
Far as the Saxon tongue can tell,
Or speech appeal,
A mother great in Israel !

Thou needest not the Roman Triumph,
Nor the palm of warlike conqueror,
For deep embalmed,
Within the hearts,
Of millions of Our Race,
Thy fragrant memory shall keep,
Together with thine early love;
Whose fame with thine,
United, verdant, shall descend,
A legacy of nobleness,
Till History and Time,
Their course shall fully end ;
With every earthly honour,
Pomp and state ;-
Albert and Victoria,
The Wise, the Good, the Great !

AN ALLEGORY.

EVENTIDE, fair handmaid of the night,
Her twilight mantle had arrayed
With glories of departing day;
Reflected o'er the purple hills
From clustered cloudlets rosy red,
Woven with amethystine hues
And gem-like links of living gold;
As a tired, way-worn traveller
Drew nigh in his lone pilgrimage
Toward the place whereon once stood
A temple of the ancient Greeks;
Its noble beauty famed far,
In many lands with wisdom's lore.
Now, so silently beautiful,
Abandoned to resistless decay;
Its marble columns strewn around
In picturesque confusion;
Each pencilled by the matchless hand
Of bygone centuries of time;
Grown o'er with tangled woodbine,
And clustering reeds and roses.

Here, then, he paused, and sat him down Upon the granite base of an Ionic shaft, Whose marbled whiteness soared on high,

All veined and moulded exquisite,
Surmounted by its beauteous capital.
Like Pharaoh's daughter with her maids,
So stood this stately pillar mid its peers,
Soft white amid the Syrian blue;
And seemingly did gaze upon the Youth below,
Who rested there beneath the cooling shade
Of ruined wall and buttress.
Wearied by the noontide heat,
And blinding glare of desert sands,
The soothing, strengthening freshness
Of this quiet spot amid the hills
Filled him with delicious feelings
Of tranquil peace and restfulness.

Birds of fairest plumage
Made resonant the air
With rills of melody,
As fluttered they
From spray to spray,
Or perched upon the ruins old.
While clinging and twining
Round the sculptured stone,
'Gainst which he wearily reclined ;
And mounting with its tendrils fair
Towards the sunny blue,
In fragrant festoons hung

The choice moss-rose of Chusistan,
Its knots and clusters blushing bloom,
Shedding aromatic incense round.
And by his side, seemingly
More delicately beautiful,
More exquisitely fragrant and fair
To the fancy of the youthful traveller,
Than all its mossy peers,
Nestled most confidingly
A fragile, fairy-like Rosebud;
Bewitching in its purity
And graceful loveliness ;
Its rare aroma and gentle tenderness
Dispensing round a soothing charm
Of sweet, refreshing power,
Which brightened all the soul
And cheered the inward man;
That made him strong again,
With glorious dreams of hope,
And thoughts of future days . .
Lúlled by the quiet calmness,
Tranquilly he fell asleep;
Nor did he wake again
Until the golden eye of dawn
Peeped forth from aerial lattice,
Mid the eastern horizon ;
Smiling, blushing, soaring,

Mounting ever upward,
To its throne on high ;
Scattering round its ether way
The crimson garlands of the sky;
Dispersing with its radiance
The misty shades of night;
And brightening all the scenery
With golden waves of light;
Kissing, too, the sleeper's eyes
With beams of happy morn ;
Awaking him to roam again
Across the dreary desert plain ;
To feel once more
The sultry noontide heat
On glowing sands,
O'er which the feet
Were goaded with a burning pain,
Till cooling shades of dewy eve
The western sky once more did weave,
With colours of departing day;
That bade again him shelter seek,
Whilst moon and stars their vigils keep
All through the night with lustrous ray,

Reluctantly he disengaged
The dew-besprinkled tendrils
Of the charming floweret rare;

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