Britannia needs no bulwarks, Her march is on the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow ; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! Our song and feast shall flow When the storm has ceased to blow; JAMES MONTGOMERY. THE DEATH OF ADAM. THE sun, in summer majesty on high, Yet dimm'd and blunted were the dazzling rays, His orb expanded through a dreary haze, He look'd in sickly horror from his throne: When higher noon had shrunk the lessening shade, And stretch'd him, pillow'd with his latest sheaves, On a fresh couch of green and fragrant leaves. Here, though his sufferings through the glen were known, We chose to watch his dying-bed alone, Eve, Seth, and I.-In vain he sigh'd for rest, And oft his meek complainings thus express'd: "Blow on me, Wind! I faint with heat! O bring Ye Cedars! wash me cold with midnight dews; These sorrowing faces fill my soul with gloom This silence is the silence of the tomb." The sun went down, amidst an angry glare Of flushing clouds, that crimson'd all the air; The winds brake loose; the forest-boughs were torn, Cattle to shelter scudded in affright; Then burst the hurricane upon the vale, In peals of thunder, and thick-volley'd hail; Around its base, the foamy-crested streams Flash'd through the darkness to the lightning's gleams; With monstrous throes an earthquake heaved the ground; The rocks were rent, the mountains trembled round. Amidst this war of elements, within More dreadful grew the sacrifice of sin, Bright through the smouldering ashes of the man, The saint brake forth, and Adam thus began :— 'O ye who shudder at this awful strife, This wrestling agony of Death and Life, Think not that He, on whom my soul is cast, My chains are breaking, I shall soon be free: He closed his eyelids with a tranquil smile, Our Mother first beheld him, sore amazed, "I come!" he cried, with faith's full triumph fir'd, And in a sigh of ecstasy expir'd. The light was vanish'd, and the vision fled; The gate of heaven had open'd there, and clos'd. JOANNA BAILLIE. THE PHRENZY OF ORRA. Hartman. Her body is. Is she well? Hart. And not her mind? oh, direst wreck of all! Some powerful movement of a transient nature; Theo. 'Tis Heaven's infliction; let us call it so; Give it no other name. Eleanora. Nay, do not thus despair; when she beholds us, She'll know her friends, and, by our kindly soothing, Be gradually restored Alice. Let me go to her. Nay, forbear, I pray thee; I will myself with thee, my worthy Hartman, Go in and lead her forth. Orra. Come back, come back! the fierce and fiery light! Theo. Yes; twice I've heard already Their matin sound. Look up to the blue sky— Orra. Aye, so it is; day takes his daily turn, Rising between the gulfy dells of night, |