THE FELON.

No! not e'en one faint breath is to be heard,

In all the range of this lone prison-house !
Save the heart-racking, deep drawn, struggling sigh,
Of the poor trembling wretch-who dies to-morrow.
A shatter'd lattice in a mouldering wall

Leaves ample current of the midnight air,

To chill the blood, which must so soon be cold!

A lurid gleam, from full autumn moon,

yon

Shoots cheerless through the narrow grated arch,
Casting a ghastly light athwart the brow

Of manly beauty! So those dark blue eyes,
Which erst spoke hope, and joy, and inward peace,
Now glare with horror, which is all unearthly!
And, ere that twice ten summers have achiev'd,
To clothe with down the rose upon his cheek,
See where fell anguish with her harrowing hand,
Has scatter'd snow amidst his raven hair!

Hark! now he prays, he weeps, he frantic moans,

Upon the bosom of a virtuous wife!

The while the prattling offspring of their love,

His little arms extended-angel-like !

Would strive to win a father's fond embrace :

Where is the power on earth that can portray,
The hopeless gaze of lovely innocence,

Plac'd 'twixt the smile of an unconscious babe,
And the dread misery of a faithful husband?
Yes! faithful! for her Roland neither was

A heartless villain nor inur'd to crime;
But poor and needy, reckless of result,
He, led by others deeper plung'd in guilt,
Had mingled in a fatal midnight fray,
And, for the madness, was he now to suffer:
Strong proof of what our Great Redeemer taught,
And would that it was never taught in vain!
That, 'tis against the first approach of vice,
Frail man should be the most securely mail'd.
One-two!—another rapid hour has roll'd
Into the Ocean of Eternity!

Another start-another maddening shriek!
And Agnes swoons upon the lowly bed,
Unable to sustain the dreadful thought,
Of all the terrors which await the dawn !-
The gaze of thousands, the abhorred tree,
The cap, the platform, and its awful fall :-
But list! what breaks the silence of the cell?

What heavenly voice? what music from on high?

Bursts through the sorrows of this awful scene?
Oh! 'tis a pardon from a gracious king;
From one whose chief delight is to forgive,

Whose best and noblest attribute is Mercy.

Mute, too, the trembling tongue which sigh'd,

A last farewell in Mary's ear;

Like autumn's whispering breeze that hied,

And left us to the gelid year.

IV.

For ever cold the wayward heart,

Whose chief delight was love of thee;
Whose latest pang was grief to part,

Whose hope was Immortality!

V.

No! not for ever cold the hand,

Nor mute the tongue, nor quench'd the ray;

Again at Heaven's supreme command,

They'll wake to everlasting day.

VI.

When purifi'd from earthly ill,

Sustain'd by a Redeemer's care;

He'll live where time no more can kill,
And love, where love knows no despair!

SONNET ADDRESSED TO TIME.

I HATE thee, envious Time, for thou dost steal

From my lov'd Mary's cheek its youthful grace How, winged monster, darest thou harshly deal

With such an angel form and beauteous face?

!

But prais'd be He, who made thee, merciless slave,

Thy reign of terror's but a narrow span ! Thy withering hand extends but to the grave,

Beyond it lies eternity to man!

Yes! every charm, which thou hast rudely taʼen,

Each lock thou'st whiten'd, and each dimple driven, Shall, by the mighty fiat, come again

More lovely in the brightening realms of Heaven ;

So shall my Mary's virtues and her bloom,
Survive the dreary mansion of the tomb.

A DYING GIFT.

I.

TIME is a thief, which slowly steals

The fairest flowers of life away,

A monitor, which oft reveals,

This awful truth, that none can stay.

II.

Ay! Albert, you and I must part,

And you will weep to see me die :

Weep! Yes, that gentle kindred heart,
Will almost burst with agony!