Lonely the temples stand, and take their hue
From the brown moor, and barren heath around;
Where scant a verdant blade invites the dew;
Where nought but ruins press the blasted ground!

O would the water burst its marble cell,
And not man's fancies, but his wants, beguile;
Blessing-itself again be blest, and swell

O'er its broad banks, and bid the desert smile!

For such the stream that now from Horeb's mount,
Thro' earth's waste wilderness all richly flows;
While crowd the thirsty round the living fount,
And the bleak desert blossoms as the rose.

And such the stream that glads the courts above,
Whose dews the Tree of Life's broad boughs distil,
To Earth dispensing gifts, in showers of love,
Life, health, strength, beauty-Freely drink who will!

This is the stream, all others are accurst

Who quaffs its wave shall live; who spurn it, dies.
The FOUNT OF TRUTH alone can quench the thirst,
But here I drink not-'tis the WELL OF LIES!

1 The three fountains are reported to have miraculously sprung forth at the place where S. Paul was beheaded. The absurd legend is perpetuated by a group of three churches and a monastery erected on the spot, which, with a few trees, form a picturesque object in the midst of low barren hills, about three miles from Rome. Under the marble pavement of the Church of S. Paul are the fountains, of which the devout are invited to partake.

THE TIBER.

FOR WHAT IS YOUR LIFE-IT IS EVEN AS A VAPOUR THAT APPEARETH FOR

A LITTLE TIME, AND THEN VANISHETH AWAY.-JAMES IV. 14.

I SAW,-when bright the gallant sun
Beamed in the deep blue sky,
Along the Tiber's sweeping flood,
A little band pass by.

No pilgrim with his scallop-shell,
Nor anchorite so lean,

Nor stately priests in scarlet hose,
Were there that day, I ween.

The flush of youth was on their brow,
Its carols on their tongue,

And sounds of jocund merriment

Upon the breeze were flung.

And one I marked of all the rest,
In life and spirits gay,

With cheek all bloom, and eye all bright,
Speed on her joyous way.

She skimmed along the brimming shore,
And urged her gallant steed,

And gaily cheered her young compeers
To rival her in speed.

They passed, swift as the rushing wind-
I rose, as from a dream;

The song and laugh soon died away,
In murmurs of the stream.

The air around seemed full of joy,
The sun more brightly shone,
And bade old Tiber's yellow flood
Gleam, as he rippled on.

I cast aside a weight of care,
And checked the starting tear,
The thought rose busy in the soul-
There is no sorrow here!

When, lo, a tramp of horse! I turn-
I mark the self-same band,

In other mood than forth they rode,'
Slow pace the shining sand.

Upon the brow a deepened gloom—
The tear within the eye;

O where is she, the lady bright,
Who sped so gallantly?

Where is she, and her prancing steed?
Why thus return alone?

Woes me! she was, and she is not-
With the flood of waters gone!

>

All reckless as she urged her steed,
It stumbled on the bank,
Plunged with its rider in the stream,
And with its rider sank.

Thrice she arose from out the flood,
Thrice raised a suppliant hand-
And thrice the bitter shriek of woe
Was heard along the strand.

But vain her cries, her struggles vain,
Nor youth, nor beauty's bloom
Availed-stern Death no pity knew,
He bore her to the tomb.

With sheets of wave he folds her round,

In his remorseless clasp,

Bubbling his sullen joy to feel

The captive in his grasp.

Then lays her on the river's bed,
Her vivid eye now dim:

All hushed her voice-all pale her cheek—
All motionless each limb.

O what an eve of sorrow sets

Upon a morn so gay!

Whole years of weeping may not wash

One moment's woe away.

Ashamed that, in a passing trance,
I dreamed the present bliss
Could last beyond the narrow bound
Of earth-born happiness,

Earth is a vale of tears, I said,

Heav'n knows nor sigh nor tear-
THERE only may the thought pervade:

There is no sorrow here!

The above refers to the affecting death of Miss Bathurst, who was drowned in the Tiber a few years ago, under circumstances which may well excuse, in the mind of an Englishman, a brief reverie on the banks of the river.

H