FYTTE THE FIRST.

Oh, proudly upcurls the wan, wan wave

And deadly black grows the sky,

And the storm comes on, with night anon,
While there's no haven nigh;

But bend to the oar, brave Roland Bois,
Steer aright, fair brother mine;

As we trim the sail to meet the gale,

And battle with the brine.

Oh, breast the proud billows, gallant knights,
Now breast them in merry mood,

But a little while, and eftsoon shall smile,
The paly moon o'er the flood;

And by to-morrow's bright dawn, I guess,
Our galley shall anchored be

On that pagan strand, where we must land,
To aid with our arms the Christian band
Beleagured in Tripoli.

The Soldan shall quail when he sees our bark
Burst through, like a bird of the air,
The foamy shroud of the tempest cloud,
And furl its broad pinions there-
From steeple and tower, and hall and bower,
The leagured shall shout amain,

When afar they desery, 'twixt earth and sky,
Our friendly banner again.

Oh, blithely, I weep, shall our long swords greet
The Paynim's fierce chivalry!

But why droop thy head now, Roland Bois,

And why gaze thus sadly on me?

"Oh, Jesu sweet!" sighed then Roland Bois,

"I have dreamed a dreary dream;

I swevened, last night, that our bark shone bright, Under the pale moonbeam.

I swevened that we were far, far at sea,

Nor haven nor land was nigh;

And the wind and the wave were hushed as the grave, And cloudless o'er hung the sky.

'Twas so calm and bright, that each wearied wight, At his oar fell fast asleep;

While the midnight watch, on the high poop set,
Thy brother, Sir Guy did keep.

At the galley's prow with a feverish brow,
Methought, that night I awoke,

And under the fear of danger near,

The cold sweat o'er me broke;

'Twas fearfully still, but soon, loud and shrill,
The slumbering gale did blow;

Like a damned spright in troubled flight
Then our bark did madly go.

Each sail was spread, and black overhead
Now frowned the chequer'd sky;

And like monsters vast, the billows past,
Each shouting its fierce storm-cry.

Methought, as I gazed on the tumbling waves,
And looked to the heavens drear,
There flitted by, to my waking eye,

A shroud and a scutcheoned bier.

The white wave bore up thy dripping plumes,

And they were bloody red;

Then it bore aloft thy pale sad brow

But thine eyes were fixed and dead.

I swevened still, and more the wave

Did chafe and rudely swell,

Till, midst its throes, thy broad breast rose,

And there a wound did well.

And fast and fast thy heart's blood streamed,
Till the billows were ruddy grown;

And fiercely clenched were thy death-set teeth,
But thy lips seemed cut in stone.

The waves went round and round our good bark,
They were flowing to the brim;

And thou wast floating round it, too,
Upon their bosom dim.

Jesu! thy mailed right hand arose —
It flittered in the moon-

And then distraught, thy brother methought,
Fell down in a death-like swoon:

For it pointed to him from the waters dim,
As it danced to and fro;

And then to the wound, and in that stound
The blood afresh 'gain flow.

I dreamed that I leaped in the ruddy-edged wave,
Sir Fulco, for love of thee,

When a bolt pierced me through, and together we

sank

In the depths of the greedy sea,

The waves grappled with us, and pressed us down, Our galley bore fast away,

But there came on the wind a laugh, which I know, I shall hear in my dying day."

"Now peace be with thee, brave Roland Bois, But thy dreaming be strange and sad,

For in sooth thou hast swevened the very same dream,

Which in yesternight's slumbers I had."

FYTTE THE SECOND.

High feast is held in bower and hall,
Great gamen and minstrelsie,

With gay revel and rout, and cheer and shout,
And bridal festivitie;

For the cross-bearing knight, the bold Sir Guy,
Hath returned from the Holy Land,
From storm and strife he alone in life

Remains of Sir Fulco's band.

His fame flies before him to sound his deeds-
The scourge of the Paynim was he,
For a braver knight never buckled on brand,
Or sailed on the green, salt sea.
Oh! now he hath come to his Norman plains,
By the Mass! he singeth with glee,
For he heirs as his own Sir Fulco's domains,
And weds Ermengarde bright of blee.
To tower and town, to dale and down,

To forest and frith so fair,

To the bravest lordships in broad Normandye, The gentle Sir Guy is heir.

Now he sits in his hall with his vassals all,

And he bids the red wine to flow,

And he pledges his bride, who blooms by his side Like a rose in its summer glow.

The fairest of dames of Norman blood,

Then pledges the courtly Guy;

"Now arede me right," quoth that ladye bright, "How thy knightly freres did die

In flood or on field, by strength or by guile,
Did perish that companie,

Since a bolder band from Christian land

Never sailed to Galilee?"

That baron upsterte, and he spilled the wine
Which he raised to his lip so pale,

With a cold thick sweat his dark brow is wet
And he shuddered to tell his tale.
But he smoothed his brow, and bit his lip-
Till the very blood outran-

"Now peace to the dead," that baron said,
And thus his dark tale began

'Oh, many a mile of land we had sailed,
And many a league of sea,

And the wind blew fair, and our galley yare
Did bound o'er the waters free.

The shores of Crete were left far behind,
The wide blue sea was before,

When a calm did creep, like a deathful sleep,
The slumbering waters o'er.

The calm did creep, like a deathful sleep,
O'er the ocean's glassy eye,

And our galley lay quite motionless,

Like a cloud in the summer sky.

It pitched none-oh! it trembled none

Upon that tranquillest tide,

But its masts stood up, strange, fixed things,
In strange silentness and pride.

While thus we lay for a long, bright day,

Nor any wind would start,

"T was then fierce and bitter thoughts grew up, Like scorpions in our heart;

And many a reckless knight did look

In the mirrored sea below,

And cursed the slumbering deep, and cursed
The wind that would not blow.

The red sun rushed down, and then a sound
Came muttering from the west-

It was the moan of the heavy storm,

Ere it broke the ocean's rest.

Loud shouted then some wild, fearless men'Come on, in the devil's name!'

And, fast and fell, came on the big swell,

The blast, and the beating rain.

Each sail was set, and each cord was strained,
Like wands the tall masts quoke,

And fast through the darkness, like fiend unblessed,
Our bark and its wild crew broke.
Ha, ha!' yelled they, as the maddening spray
Climbed up to the starless sky,

We have won us a gale of noblest avail !'-
'God speed us!' the reckless cry.

It was fearful to me, as I knelt on my knee,
To hear the unholy crew

Shout louder and louder their fierce war-songs,
As wilder the hurricane blew.

With penitent face, I prayed long for grace,
On my bended knee to heaven;

And, 'mid lightning and rain, on that storm-vexed

main,

Of mine own sin was I shriven.
On, on our ship reeled, and harsher pealed
The thunder o'er that doomed bark

Now sailless and mastless it onward snored,
And panted through billows dark.
Each bulwark groaned, each timber creaked,
The rudder was wrenched away,
The planks start out, now about and about
It whirls through the foamy spray.
Through darkness and foam, and thunder and storm,
It dashed with desperate glee;

And faster and faster on lashed in its might

The wrath of the howling sea. Yes-ever and aye, like some fell beast of prey, O'er our deck the huge wave burst,

Till it bore far away in its savage swoop

Each knight that had idly cursed.

They were swept away, I was left to pray —
To the wreck I madly clung,

While 'mid raging waves and thundering winds,
Their wild, dying accents rung.

Oh! 't was fearful to hear on the ocean drear,
The shout and the curse of the brave,
As they bann'd in their ire the smothering surge,
And fought with the whelming wave!

I bound me at last to a broken mast,
And I wrestled hard with death;
In the tempest's blast I drifted fast
On my drear and shoreless path.
Dear Jesu! it is a fearful thing

To float on the wide, waste sea,

In the depth of the night, when no star sheds its light, O'er the thick obscurity,

And to hear around but the hollow sound

Of the water's moody glee.
The storm did die, and oh! glad was I
To see the daylight upspring,

And to feel the branching, dank seaweed
About my cold limbs cling.

And then to touch the firm, wrinkled sand,
With my foot so numbed and chill!

And to breathe the life-breeze that seaward came
From meadow and wooded hill.

'Twas thus I escaped, while my brother knights

sank

On that awful and perilous tide,

To win me rich laurels in eastern lands,

For thee, my bright Norman bride.
But fill up my cup, with the ruddy, bright wine,
Strike up the brave minstrelsie;

All sorrow is vain, since it cannot again
Breathe life in the dead that be."

FITTE THE THIRD.

"It is merry in hall when beards wag all,"
The ancient carol doth say;

And when the can clinks, 't is then, methinks,
The minstrels do merriest play.

And blithely and loudly each glee-man carped,
In that undertide jolilye-

For the wine was good, and, by the rood,
They smacked it right lustilye.

Night wanes apace, and 't is the hour

Which divideth night from day'Tis the gloomy hour when the dead have power On this earth again to stray

It is the hour when in forest brown,
In glen, or on hillock green,

The fairy power, in a goodly shower
Of moonlight, is trooping seen.

Slow, solemn, and clear, that hour so drear,
The bell of the castle hath rung,
With a mournful knell the deep accents fell,
Of its ponderous iron tongue-
And suddenly then two stalworth men
Stood the joyous rout among.
Two knights they seem, as the taper's gleam
Falls broad on their armor dim,

And the cross of Christ's on the breast displayed
Of their surcoats, soiled and grim.

No glance they threw on the vassal crew,
No sound from their lips did come,

But they looked towards Sir Guy, on the dais so

high,

All mournful, sad, and dumb,

a spirit of independence, that spirit was curbed more and more; instead of creating a popular free-will by emancipating the church from old fetters, ecclesiastical authority was converted into a prop for the support of temporal magistra

cies.

Confidence was spoken of, but a want of confidence was everywhere manifested; there was no confidence, except in force, and fear; in the military and in prisons; no office-holder was permitted to hold or express an opinion. Can it be wondered at, if now, when the old bonds of union have been suddenly and violently rent asunder; when the charm of invincibility, which surrounded the standing armies, has been dissolved, the governments find themselves without the moral power, without even the courage or the strength, to oppos⚫ open violations of the law. But it is not the new, but the old system which has taught the people, that not the supplications of the truest and noblest patriots, but agitation, terror, excesses can accomplish every thing. And this could not fail to demoralize the nations; but let it not be said that it is freedom which has demoralized them. If they see that great or small illegal revolutions have raised to the administration of affairs those men, who for years have in vain been striving, by legal means, to bring about a better system, can we be surprised if the masses misunderstand this, and see in it an incentive to every species of illegality? Far be it from us to defend these violations of the law now, that we can legally secure to ourselves the popular freedom which we have gained, that we can legally aid the people,—that responsible governments, composed of popular representatives, are willing to meet every exigency of the times, and that all opposing forces are become powerless. Nor will we unnecessarily condemn the fallen, or judge with severity that which has passed away; but if the still numerous friends of the old system would lay the present violations of the law to the charge of freedom, then it is absolutely necessary that she should be justified. We seek not to excite, but to encourage to confidence the great mass of peaceful citizens, the tradesmen, the middle classes who are told to "behold the fruits of freedom." No, we cry again and again, "behold the fruits of tutelage; behold the fruits of neglect of the people." We have, it is true, made an enormous leap from old times into new; but why, we ask, had not preparation been made for this freedom, which it has now been necessary to grant, - by improvement in popular education, by greater independence in municipal self-government, and by liberty of the press? We cannot now retrace our steps; a reaction would be a calamity. The waters which

have burst their bounds, may be guided into a new and peaceful channel; they cannot be again confined within their old and narrow courses. We must press forward out of anarchical into legal freedom. We must all labor for the restoration of civil order, but it must not be by maliciously laying to the charge of freedom, the excesses which have taken place. It must be made clear to all, whither the old conditions of society have led; could not but lead; in order, not only that all may learn to have confidence in freedom, but that each, in his sphere, may labor to remove henceforth the causes of that lamentable state of anarchy. We shall not wholly escape from the necessary evils of a violent state of transition; we shall not all at once be able to give to the masses morality, respect for laws and property, civilization, and the faculty of forming a right judgment on political questions; but we shall at least effect, that quiet citizens will not wish for a restoration of the old system, which can never guarantee them against the recurrence of similar excesses and violations of public order. All will then become more courageous, more confiding, more ready to make sacrifices for the now necessary re-erection of our social edifice, which in its free institutions, protected by the whole community of civilized citizens, will afford the best security for the welfare of all.-Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung.

TALMUDICAL PARABLE. THE MAN AND THE SERPENT.-Man: Why, serpent, dost thou bite? The lion rushes upon his prey to devour it, the wolf tears his victim, in order to satisfy his hunger; you alone, you wound for the sole purpose of killing. Serpent: Is it not my destiny so to do?-Man: But why must your poison rage through the whole body-why do you not attack one single limb?- Serpent: Is not man a great deal worse than myself? Even when in Syria, his tongue often wounds one that is in Rome, and being at Rome its venom may wound one in Syria. — Jewish Chronicle.

MUSIC OF THE NIGHTINGALE. - But the nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet, loud music, out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, Lord! what music hast thou provided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men such musie on earth. — Izaak Walton.

The extremely different and even contradic- | tory accounts of the same events that appear in our various public journals-accounts which always vary in complexion according to the political bias of the journal in which they appear ought to keep us in mind that those accounts are furnished by more or less imperfectly informed partizans; and it is important, as often as possible, to place before the people of England themselves the means of forming something more than second-hand judgment.

At the present moment England is occupying an important position, and wielding a mighty power, in reference to the question between Italy and Austria. It is deeply to be regretted that the parties directing that power are not more open to the influence of that enlightened public opinion which alone, in regard to the home department of our Government, is the safeguard of our country. Upon foreign questions we are, as a nation, too careless, and very ill-informed. It has been our constant aim to do something to check this evil; and with the same view we would direct the attention to the facts detailed in this pamphlet.

It will be recollected that on the 28th July last, upon the news arriving in Milan that Charles Albert had been defeated at Villa-Franca, the Provisional Government of Lombardy appointed a Committee of Public Safety, of three members, and gave them full powers to take such steps as they might deem necessary to meet the exigencies of the times. The committee remained in power only until the 2nd August, when Gen. Olivieri arrived in Milan, and assumed the whole power of the Government, as royal commissioner, appointed by Charles Albert. General Olivieri, however, requested the committee to continue to discharge their functions, which, accordingly, they did, in a sort of doubtful state, sometimes on their own responsibility, sometimes in concert with the royal commissioner, until they learned that the capitulation was irrevocably decided, when they protested against that step, and joined that most extraordinary and unprecedented procession, when rather than again witness and submit to the hated Austrian rule in Milan, three fourths of the entire population of the city emigrated en

masse.

The committee now render an account of the way in which they employed their power during the few days it remained in their hands, "not

with the view of making useless recriminations, when all is over, but that it may serve as an historical document, to throw light upon the Italian question, and to rectify facts which we see strangely altered in foreign prints; for while the Italian question is being discussed—and will be perhaps, decided by diplomacy, it is more than ever necessary that all the facts, and all the secret causes should be made known with scrupulous truth."

The committee assert that on their appointment they gave their immediate attention, first, to the pressing want of money to carry on the war; secondly, to the due service of the army and the city with provisions; and thirdly, to the military defence of the city and that part of the country which was not yet in possession of the enemy.

Upon the first point they gave a detailed statement, to show "that in no case could Milan have been without funds, and that even in the event of such an unlikely difficulty presenting itself, they were prepared to meet it by an issue of paper money."

Upon the second point they show what was the original agreement between Lombardy and Charles Albert, and that from first to last Lombardy supplied more than had been required of her, and more than the usual supply to an army of similar numbers to that of the king; that, consequently, if the army suffered from a want of provisions, as it undoubtedly did, it must have been from bad management in the commissariat department, in pointing out the proper central depots, and providing means for the regular distribution, of the food supplied; and that, in point of fact, provisions, amounting in value to more than 100,000 francs, which had been supplied to the army, were allowed to fall into the hands of the Austrians.

They further show that when the capitulation was signed, there was actually in Milan food sufficient to last both the city and the army three weeks::

"This left no room for uneasiness, because with an army of more than 40,000 men to defend the city, it was not possible to fail of having some one gate free through which to forage the neighbouring fertile country, and thus to inthree weeks. Nor was it to be supposed that crease the provisions already accumulated for the then position of military affairs would be protracted for a longer period.”