s nay?
_What! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen?
And shall Trelawney die?
Then twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why_.

"And when we come to London wall
We'll shout with it in view,
'Come forth, come forth, ye cowards all!
We're better men than you!
Trelawney, he's in keep and hold,
Trelawney, he may die;
But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
Will know the reason why!'
_What! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen?
And shall Trelawney die?
Then twenty thousand under ground
Will know the reason why_."

ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER.

* * * * *

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS.

The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts that once beat high for praise
Now feel that pulse no more!

No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.

THOMAS MOORE.

* * * * *

AS BY THE SHORE AT BREAK OF DAY.

As by the shore, at break of day,
A vanquished chief expiring lay,
Upon the sands, with broken sword,
He traced his farewell to the free;
And there the last unfinished word
He dying wrote, was "Liberty!"

At night a sea-bird shrieked the knell
Of him who thus for freedom fell:
The words he wrote, ere evening came,
Were covered by the sounding sea;--
So pass away the cause and name
Of him who dies for liberty!

THOMAS MOORE.

* * * * *

THE HILLS WERE MADE FOR FREEDOM.

When freedom from her home was driven,
'Mid vine-clad vales of Switzerland,
She sought the glorious Alps of heaven,
And there, 'mid cliffs by lightnings riven,
Gathered her hero-band.

And still outrings her freedom-song,
Amid the glaciers sparkling there,
At Sabbath bell, as peasants throng
Their mountain fastnesses along,
Happy, and free as air.

The hills were made for freedom; they
Break at a breath the tyrant's rod;
Chains clank in valleys; there the prey
Writhes 'neath Oppression's h