And the voice answer'd, "Be thou still,
Enough to know is given;

Clouds, winds, and stars, their task fulfil,
Thine is to trust to Heaven!"

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ?—
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells,
Bright things which gleam unreck'd of, and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea!

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the Depths have more! What wealth untold Far down, and shining through their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies,

Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main!
Earth claims not these again!

Yet more, the Depths have more! Thy waves have roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by!

Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful playMan yields them to decay!

Yet more, the Billows and the Depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,

The battle thunders will not break their rest:
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave-
Give back the true and brave!

Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom

The place was kept at board and hearth so long, The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning 'woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,— But all is not thine own!

To thee the love of woman hath gone down;

Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flow'ry crown; Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the Dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from theeRestore the Dead, thou Sea!

THE SPANISH CHAMPION.

THE warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprison'd sire: "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train ;

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord-oh! break my father's chain."

"Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransom❜d man this day;

Mount thy good steed, and thou and I will meet him on his way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed; And urged, as if with lance in hand, his charger's foaming speed.

And lo! from far, as on they press’d, there came a glitter

ing band, With one that ʼmid them stately rode, as a leader in the land: “Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father-whom thy grateful heart hath yearn'd so long

to see.”

His dark eye flash’d, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's

hue came and went; He reach'd that gray-hair'd chieftain's side, and there, dis

mounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took ;What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold-a frozen thing-it dropp'd from his

like lead, He look'd up to the face above—the face was of the dead; A plume waved o'er that noble brow—the brow was fix'd

and white; He met at length his father's eyes, but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed; but who can

paint that gaze? It hush'd their very hearts who saw its horror and amaze; They night have chain'd him, as before that stony form

he stoodFor the power was stricken from his arm, and from his

cheek tbe blood.

“ Father !” at length he murmur'd low, and wept like

childhood then (Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike

men)

He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his high re

nown ; Then flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat

down.

And, covering with his steel-gloved hand his darkly mourn

ful brow, “No more, there is no more," he said, “to lift the sword

for now;

My king is false ! my hope betray'd! my father-oh, the

worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are pass'd away from earth !”

Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the

Monarch's rein, Amid the pale and wilder'd looks of all the courtier train ; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war

horse led, And sternly set them face to face, the King before the dead.

“Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to

kiss ? Be still! and gaze thou on, false King ! and tell me what

is this? The look, the voice, the heart I sought — give answer,

where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through

this cold clay!

“Into these glassy eyes put light—be still, keep down

thine ireBid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my

sire !

Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my

blood was shed; Thou canst not—and a King !his dust be mountains on

thy head !”

He loosed the rein—his slack hand fell ;-upon the silent

face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turn'd from

that sad place! His hope was crush'd_his after-fate untold in martial

strain His banner led the spears no more among the hills of Spain!

MRS MACLEAN, (L. E. L.)

THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL.

That soldier had stood on the battle-plain,
Where every step was over the slain :
But the brand and the ball had pass'd him by,
And he came to his native land—to die !

'Twas hard to come to that native land,
And not clasp one familiar hand !
'Twas hard to be number'd amid the dead,
Or ere he could hear his welcome said !

But 'twas something to see its cliffs once more,
And to lay his bones on his own loved shore;
To think that the friends of his youth might weep
O’er the green grass turf of the soldier's sleep.