"From lightning, and tempest, and path-hiding cloud, From dangers that wait when the breakers are loud,

From powers of the air, and from powers of the wave, Salve Regina!

Hear us, and save!

A night of stars; a night of holy calm,
For musing meet and inward communing.
The fiery day-flood through the Vast had roll'd,
The glory and the hum, and left it now
A temple set for pray'r, solemn and wide,
Wherein ten thousand living tapers shone;
Shrine of the universe, the house of God
Made not with hands. And all the deep lay still,
And look'd in wonder on the shadowy blue:
Softly the night-winds sigh'd, and, stooping low,
Whisper'd strange secrets in the ocean's ear-
A night so still, as though mute nature saw
The dawning chance, and hush'd in reverent awe.

Praise now the Lord! oh, Master, with thy soul !
And all thy heart be gladness for His love!
For all thy sorrow, here is sweetest joy;
For all thy labour, here is full remeed;
Be now the courtly scorn, the slander vile,
The weary wandering, the hope delay'd,
All, all forgot that erst did thee annoy;
Take now thy fill of ease, be large in joy.

Lo in the West a pale unsteady light
Shines in the mirk, and darts its silver rays,
A trembling gleam, now here, now pass'd away
Behind the shadowy curtains of the night,
Mocking the ken. Oh happy, blissful beam!
Bearer of joy to sorrow-laden souls,
Sweeter than word of comforting that falls,
Like softest music in a stricken ear;
Welcome as ever pilot lamp that guides
The sea-tost sailor home, shine out, fair ray!
Kindle Hope's dying torch to ecstasy.
It beacons thee, Columbus; it is set,

A guiding lamp upon the New World's front,
To light thee to her shores; a taper fair
Within thy lady's casement burning bright,
Telling of welcome glad.

But if it shine
In monarch's lofty dome or peasant's cot,
Whether it gleam o'er cities many-tower'd,
Or o'er the desert wild keep lonely watch,
Whether it shine o'er lands of weal or woe,
Contented rest, the daylight all shall show.
Distant and dim against the mellow sky
Loom'd the new land, and on her dusky brow
The mist of morning lay. Hueless her form,

As mid-day shadows on a sunlit wall;
For yet the day was not, but round the verge
Glimpses of glory from the under sky
Girdled the ocean with an amber zone.
And broader grew the dawn. Star after star,
Quenching her tiny lamp in the grey sky,
Fled heavenward, and the deserted moon
Hung like a faded lily in the west.
Upward and onward spreading warily

Blush'd the new morn, till from the glowing east,
Ruddy and glorious as the golded gates
That open on eternal summerland,
Outleapt a living ray of saffron sun,
Tripping to westward on in silent mirth,
Waking the beauty of the slumb'ring earth,
Till the wide vault o'erhead in sunshine bloom'd,
And all the sea laugh'd upward to the sky.
Fair lay the land; all green and dewy-fresh,
As if but yesterday the morning stars
Had o'er its birth their hallelujahs sung,
Creation's latest labour, and her best.
A lovely land; of hills and shady vales,
And streams that by the roots of leafy trees
Stole seaward ever with a silver chime.
Far up the slope a sea of wavy boughs
Shook merrily, from off their leafy locks
Tossing the dewdrops to the sun.

Beneath

The mossy sward that clasp'd the gnarled stems
Crept downward to a verge of sunny sands,
Besprent with random flakes of creamy spray.
All round the beach the ripple laughing ran,
And by each jutting peak the sunlit wave
Leapt on the rocks and clapt its briny hands;
Shouted and rose, and shouted evermore

To see the strangers come. While the low wind,
Heavy with breath of flowers and spiceries,
Balmy as summer-breezes of Seville,

Lifted the lazy canvass languidly.

The greenwood's thousand singers wing'd around,
Filling the air with tuneful welcomings;

And, sight most strange, from out the leafy shades
Came mild-eyed men, like sylvan deities,
Unclothed, with tawny brows, and gazed on them.

This was the land, and grief was turn'd to joy;
This was the land, and all their toil was o'er;
This was the land, and where the Master stood
They turn'd in transport of delirious joy,

And laugh'd, and sobb'd, and kneeling clasp'd his knees.

T. P. JOHNSTON.

LAYS OF THE ELECTIONS.

BY VARIOUS REJECTED CONTRIBUTORS.

1. THE COCK OF THE HUSTINGS.
2. IN MEMORIAM.

2. A WAIL FROM COTTONOPOLIS.
4. THE MAID OF HUDDERSFIELD.

THE COCK OF THE HUSTINGS.

EARLY in the morning wending
Past the hustings tall and wide,
Where but yesterday, contending
Statesmen raved and speechified-
Where the City magnates spouted,
Till their faces fiery grew;
And the creedless Christian shouted
For the unbelieving Jew-

There I saw a Chanticlero

Strutting with intense delight, Spurr'd and plumaged like a hero, Victor in a desperate fight. Deftly rose the feather'd phantom; To the hustings' top it flew"Cock-a-doodle!" crow'd the bantam, "Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo !"

And I tarried in my station;
For indeed 'twas most absurd
To remark the exultation

Of that self-conceited bird!
Never warrior fresh from battles
Waved his crest so high in air,
As the creature shook its wattles,
Perched upon the rafter there.
"Fowl!" said I, "in various fashions
Mother Nature shapes her plan:
Say, do poultry feel the passions
That molest the heart of man?
Hath ambition stirr'd thee nearly?
Gallant bantam, tell me true!"
"Cock-a-doodle !" crowed it clearly;
"Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo!"

"Hath some rival tried to chase thee From thy walk amidst the pens ? Hath he striven to debase thee In the presence of thy hens? Hast thou, all at venture setting, Fought thy way to glory, while Round the cockpit rose the betting;'Six to one on ginger-pile?' "Yesterday, with mien defiant, Stood the noble Russell thereDavid trampling on the giant,

Did not look so fresh and fair

And the throats of countless clo'-men
Hail'd their ever-glorious John;
Jubilee of evil omen

To the quaking Palmerston!

"With Mosaic cheers unglutted,
Stood he in this vast abode;
As thou struttest, so he strutted,
As thou crowest, so he crow'd-
He, the well-beloved of Hansard,

Is he kin, sweet bird, to you?"
But the valiant bantam answer'd-
"Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo!"

IN MEMORIAM.

I.

HATH not a Jew eyes, hands?-When snipt or slit,
Doth he not bleed? Doth not the self-same food
Feed Jew and Christian (save that pork's eschew'd)?
And, when elected, shall a Jew not sit?

II.

O Father Abraham!-were there seats to sell,
I could buy Lords and Commons, all the train,
And sit alone within those Houses twain,
The representative of Holywell.

III.

A plague o' both your Houses! Woe betide
The voices that the Jew elect proclaim!
I'm like some maid a matron but in name,
A widow in the hour she is a bride.

IV.

Oft in my dreams do crowds obsequious bring
A throne, and motion me to sit thereon;
I trustfully comply-when lo! 'tis gone,
And on the floor I waken shivering.

V.

Jews to the rescue!-Shout!cry, "Shent per Shent!"
Old clo' for ever!"-Soft, I did but dream;

Not in such threatening guise shall we, I deem,

See Israel in the Gentile Parliament.

VI.

Upon the City's banners I'll inscribe

My name again next time. Meanwhile I'll wait,
And loans gigantic I'll negotiate,

For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.

1

A WAIL FROM COTTONOPOLIS.

O mighty Wilson, Chairman of the League,-
Thousand-speech'd Wilson, hawbuck-hating Wilson,-
Ambi-dexter Wilson, hearken to my wail
Listen, ye chimneys, whose perpetual smoke
Wreathes up like incense in the hungry air-
Listen, ye walls, that whilome bore my name
In all the glory of immense placards,―
Listen, ye stones-dull stones! that did not rise
To make a noble mutiny for me,

Forsaken by a herd of thankless men!

Hear me, for I will speak, despite of tears,
And build the story of my wrongs as high
As are yon idle churches, and their vanes,
Those ever shifting servants of the wind,
Meet emblems for a false democracy!
It may be I shall somewhat ease my heart,
And by the utterance of my bitter wrongs,
Purge off the bile that almost chokes me now!

Dear chairman Wilson,-ever spouting Wilson,-
League-sustaining Wilson, hearken to my cry!
I was about the most conspicuous man

That walked in glory through Saint Stephen's Hall.
I've sate for Manchester since forty-one,

And never unto Cobden or to Bright

Have given precedence; but have always stood,
Sole and aloof upon my pedestal.

For Anacharsis Clootz my model was,

And that distinguished Marquis, Saint Huruge,
Both sans-culottes, yet perfect gentlemen.
Therefore the common people loved me well,
And, at election times, a dingy grove
Of unwashed hands was lifted up for me!

I do beseech thee, Wilson, hear my plaint!
Still in the van of progress did I march,
Always ahead of dozing ministers.

Did Russell venture to remove a tax?
I straightway told him ten should be removed.
Did he propose to cut the army down?
My voice was for disbandment. Hotspur's lord
Who met him on the field with pouncet-box,
Did not abuse saltpetre worse than I.
Taxes on knowledge most I did abhor,
Because the press was too respectable,
And power was lodged in educated hands.
My doctrine was that industry should pay,
And sloth, and vice, and drunkenness go free;
Therefore a gradual chasm began to yawn
Between me and the ministerial souls

Who looked on freedom through the Treasury panes,
And were not jocund, save on quarter-day.
Yet still the Whigs depended on my vote.
Still were they courteous, till that evil hour,
When, as Atrides with Achilles strove,
The Palmerstonian toe ejected John!

VOL. LXXXI.-NO. CCCCXCIX.

2 S