Shivered by the deluge shock,
When the world was drowned--and now
Tottering before Ruin's plough.
Forests green, and rivers wide--
Every flow and ebb of tide.
Rivulets, whose crystal veins
Ripple along flowery plains,
Leaping torrents rushing hoarse,
Mimicking the ocean's force,
Leafage in its summer pride--
Flowers to Paradise allied.
Fruit inviting, luscious, such
As seems to paralyze the touch,
As ambrosial nectar sweet,
Ripe and fit for Gods to eat.
Nature's power is seen in all--
Winter's Crown, or Spring-birds' call--
Summer's eloquent perfume,
Autumn's yellow-tinted bloom--
Every chiselled sand grain tells
Nature's might; the petal cells,
Whence the bee her honey draws,
Glorify Creation's laws;
Things minute, or vast expanse
That tires the astronomic glance.
Ocean swathed with azure blue,
Or the gems of morning dew.
_Past_--with all its mighty deeds,
Nature claims its choicest meeds;
_Present_--with portentous calm,
Nature claims its chiefest palm;
_Future_--ah! she trembles _there_,
Nature quivers in despair.
When the master of the scene,
From the cloud-work of serene
Asks her long deputed power--
Takes her sceptre--bids her cower--
Strips her of her ancient robe,
She, who once bestrode the globe--
Flings around his flaming path
Crescents of destructive wrath;
Tramples earth, and rolls in fire
Forth the thunders of his ire.
Nature sinks, no more to rise
While JEHOVAH fills the skies
With his glory high, sublime--
Death is dead, and perished time!
What a scene! when naught shall be
But Chaos and Eternity!

We are happy to find in Mr. Gough's List of Subscribers to his work, a
host of royal and noble patrons, the ministers of the country, the Earl
of Eldon, the Lord and Lady Mayoress, and a few of the Court of
Aldermen--patronage, court and city--combining to encourage Mr. Gough's
praiseworthy efforts.

* * * * *

CAPTAIN MUNDY'S VISIT TO THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON, AT ST. HELENA.

Having passed two hours on the spot where Napoleon lived and died, we
rode onwards to the vale which contains his bones: it is about half a
mile from Longwood, and within a few hundred yards of the cottage of
Madame Bertrand, to whom he indicated the spot in which he desired to
rest, should the English not allow his remains to lie on the banks of
the Seine. Soon after leaving Bertrand