I love the organ's joyous swell,— Faint emblem of he call of God. And hear the still small voice of peace. And, as the ray of evening fades, I love amidst the dead to stand, Where, in the chancel's deepening shades, I seem to meet the ghostly band. One comes;-Oh! mark his sparkling eye! I knew his faith, his strong endeavour; Another-Ah! I hear him sigh, Alas! and is he gone for ever! Another treads the shadowy aisle, His shepherd voice, his eye of fire!— I saw his death;-I closed his Long be our Father's temple ours,— The rampart of a present God' Manchester Exchange Herald. ADDRESS TO THE EGYPTIAN MUMMY IN BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. BY HORACE SMITH, ESQ. AND thou hast walked about-how strange a story!— Speak, for thou long enough hast acted Dummy! Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect,- Was Cheops, or Cephrenés architect Of either Pyramid that bears his name? Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer? Had Thebes a hundred gates as sung by Homer? Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden, By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy trade,Then say, what secret melody was hidden In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played? Perhaps thou wert a Priest-if so, my struggles Are vain,—for priestcraft never owns its juggles. Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat; Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass : Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, Long after thy primeval race was run. Thou could'st develope, if that withered tongue Still silent! Incommunicative elf! Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But, prythee, tell us something of thyself,— Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits, thou hast slumbered, Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations;— The Roman Empire has begun and ended; New worlds have risen,-we have lost old nations; And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder, If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, A heart hath throbbed beneath that leathern breast, And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled. Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face? What was thy name, and station, age, and race? Statue of flesh!-Immortal of the dead! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, Why should this worthless tegument endure, O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue, that when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. New Monthly Magazine. THE FORSAKEN HEART. My heart is like a lonely lyre, And thou art as the careless fingers, Which tore those tuneless strings away; The world, the senseless world remembers, Its tears have steeped the cold, cold embers; Literary Gazette. GYPSIES. BY THE REV. J. BERESFORD. UNDERNEATH the greenwood tree, When our crazy tents were raising ;- Over heath and over field, He must scramble who would find us; In the copse-wood close concealed, On the stream the trout are leaping; |