incessantly revolve them-shall turn to you a reverential eye, while they mourn over the freedom which is entombed in your sepulchre. I cannot but imagine the virtuous heroes, legislators, and patriots, of every age and country, are bending from their elevated seats to witness this contest, as if they were incapable, till it be brought to a favourable issue, of enjoying their eternal repose. Enjoy that repose, illustrious mortals! Your mantle fell when you ascended; and thousands, inflamed with your spirit, and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready" to swear by Him that sitteth upon the throne, and liveth for ever and ever," they will protect Freedom in her last asylum, and never desert that cause which you sustained by your labours, and cemented with your blood. And Thou, sole Ruler among the children of men, to whom the shields of the earth belong, "gird on thy sword, thou Most Mighty; " go forth with our hosts in the day of battle! Impart, in addition to their hereditary valour, that confidence of success which springs from Thy presence! Pour into their hearts the spirit of departed heroes! Inspire them with Thine own; and, while led by Thine hand, and fighting under Thy banners, open Thou their eyes to behold in every valley, and in every plain, what the prophet beheld by the same illumination-chariots of fire and horses of fire! "Then shall the strong man be as tow, and the maker of it as a spark; and they shall both burn together, and none shall quench them!" ROBERT HALL.

THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR.

"AND wherefore do the poor complain ?" The rich man asked of me ;"Come walk abroad with me," I said,

"And I will answer thee."

'Twas evening, and the frozen streets
Were cheerless to behold,
And we were wrapt and coated well,
And yet we were a-cold.

We met an old bare-headed man,
His locks were few and white;
I asked him what he did abroad
In that cold winter's night.

"Twas bitter keen, indeed, he said,
But at home no fire had he,
And therefore he had come abroad
To ask for charity.

We met a young bare-footed child,
And she begg'd loud and bold,
I ask'd her what she did abroad

When the wind it blew so cold;

She said her father was at home,

And he lay sick in bed,

And therefore was it she was sent
Abroad to beg for bread.

We saw a woman sitting down
Upon a stone to rest,

She had a baby at her back
And another at her breast;

I ask'd her why she loiter'd there,
When the night-wind was so chill

She turn'd her head and bade the child
That scream'd behind be still.

She told us that her husband served
A soldier, far away,

And therefore to her parish she
Was begging back her way.

We met a girl, her dress was loose,
And sunken was her eye,

Who with the wanton's hollow voice
Addressed the passers by ;

I ask'd her what there was in guilt
That could her heart allure

To shame, disease, and late remorse?
She answer'd, she was poor.

I turn'd me to the rich man then,
For silently stood he,-

“You ask'd me why the poor complain,
And these have answer'd thee!

THE LAST LEAF.

I SAW him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again

The pavement stones resound
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,

Not a better man was found

By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets

Sad and wan,

SOUTHEY.

And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said,"They are gone."

The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,

And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.

My grand-mamma has said,-
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago,-

That he had a Roman nose,

And his cheek was like a rose

In the snow.

But now his nose is thin,

And it rests upon his chin

Like a staff,

And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin

For me to sit and grin

At him here;

But the old three-corner'd hat,

And the breeches, and all that,

Are so queer!