on tiers.

Another day of triumph for the right,--
Of laurels fresh for Exmouth and for thee,--
When Afric's Demon, palsied at the sight
Of Europe's Angel, bade the slave go free!

But when away War's fiery storms had burn'd,
And Peace re-gladden'd Earth with skies of blue,
Thy sword into the pruning-hook was turn'd,
And Caesar into Cincinnatus grew.

The poor's protector, the unbiass'd judge,
'Twas thine with warm unwearied zeal to lend
Time to each duty's call, without a grudge;
The Christian, and the Patriot, and the Friend.

Farewell! 'tis dust to dust within the grave;
But while one heart beats high to Scotland's fame,
Best of the good, and bravest of the brave,
The name of Milne shall be an honour'd name.

STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD.

BY B. SIMMONS.

I.
Take back into thy bosom, Earth,
This joyous, May-eyed morrow,
The gentlest child that ever Mirth
Gave to be rear'd by Sorrow.
'Tis hard--while rays half green, half gold,
Through vernal bowers are burning,
And streams their diamond-mirrors hold
To Summer's face returning--
To say, We're thankful that His sleep
Shall never more be lighter,
In whose sweet-tongued companionship
Stream, bower, and beam grew brighter!

II.
But all the more intensely true
His soul gave out each feature
Of elemental Love--each hue
And grace of golden Nature,
The deeper still beneath it all
Lurk'd the keen jags of Anguish;
The more the laurels clasp'd his brow,
Their poison made it languish.
Seem'd it that like the Nightingale
Of his own mournful singing[32],
The tenderer would his song prevail
While most the thorn was stinging.

III.
So never to the Desert-worn
Did fount bring freshness deeper,
Than that his placid rest this morn
Has brought the shrouded sleeper.
That rest may lap his weary head
Where charnels choke the city,
Or where, mid woodlands, by his bed
The wren shall wake its ditty:
But near or far, while evening's star
Is dear to hearts regretting,
Around that spot admiring Thought
Shall hover unforgetting.

IV.
And if _this_ sentient, seething world
Is, after all ideal,
Or in the Immaterial furl'd
Alone resides the Real,
FR